i 


^±1J2L 


THE  ETHEL  CARR  PEACOCK 

MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


Main's  amort  monumentum 


TRINITY  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

DURHAM,   N.  C. 
1903 


Gift  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dred  Peacock 


I? 


SELF-COJVTROL.  ^^-O. 


tts  warfare  u  within.^rw  uitfauraeJ 
«^  ferrent  spirit  labou„.-Ther.  he  fi^ht, 
At-^  there  obtain,  fi^.  triun.ph,  o'er  h«.self 
And  nev.^^^^,^^^^^^^  with. 

*^**"»"»P»  are  weeds. 


PVBLISHED  BY  DAVID  LONGWORTH, 

AT  THE  SHAKSPBARE  GALLERY. 

C  s.  Van  Winkle,  PrinttfTv 

1811. 


,W      .  -Vii': 


^ 


■  \ 

\ 


/^yfU^t  Ud         /"^ 


'-'^W^^: 


TO 


MISS  JOANNA  BAILLIE. 


IMADAM, 

You  Would  smile  to  hear  the  insect  of  a 
day  pay  the  tribute  of  its  praise  to  the  lasting 
oali  which  aided  its  fii^  feeble  soaring — Smile 
then  ; — for  a  person  whom  nature,  foil  une,  and 
inclination,  alike  haVe  marked  for  obscurity, 
one  whose  very  name  m^  nev-er  reach  your 
ear,  offers  this  tribute' of  respect  to  the  author 
of  Plays  on  the  Passions. 

Th^  pleasure  of  expressing  heart-felt  admi- 
ration is  not,  however,  my  only  motive  for 
inscribing  this  tale  to  you.  Unknown  to  the 
world  both  as  an  individual  and  as  an  author, 
I  own  myself  desirous  of  giving  a  pledge  of 
j^potless  intention  in  my  work,  by  adorning  it 
v»  ith  the  name  of  one  whose  writincrs  force  everv 
unvitiated  heart  to  glow  with  a  wanner  love  of 
virtue.  On  one  solitary  point  I  claim  equality 
with  you: — In  purity  of  intention  I  yield  not 

f  ven  to  J  O A>7NA  B A JLLIE. 


May  I  venture  to  avow  another  feeling  which 
has  prompted  this  intrusion?  What  point  so 
small  that  vanity  cannot  build  on  it  a  resting 
place  !  Will  you  believe  that  this  trifle  claims 
affinity  with  the  Plays  on  the  Passions  ?  Your 
portraitures  of  the  progress  and  of  the  conse- 
quences of  passion — ^portraitures  whose  ex- 
quisite truth  gives  them  the  force  of  living 
examples — are  powerful  warnings  to  watch  the 
first  risings  of  the  insidious  rebel.  No  guard 
but  one  is  equal  to  the  task.  The  regulation  of 
the  passions  is  the  province,  it  is  the  triumph 
of  Religion.  In  the  character  of  Laura  Mon- 
treville,  the  religious  principle  is  exhibited  as 
rejecting  the  bribes  of  ambition ;  bestowing  for- 
titude in  want  and  sorrow ;  as  restraining  just 
displeasure;  overcoming  constitutional  timidi- 
ty; conquering  misplaced  affection;  and  tri- 
umphing over  the  fear  of  death  and  disgrace. 

This  little  tale  was  begun  at  first  merely  for 
my  own  amusement.  It  is  published  that  I  may 
reconcile  my  conscience  to  the  time  which  it 
has  employed,  by  making  it  in  some  degree 
useful.  Let  not  the  term  so  applied  provoke  a 
smile !  If  my  book  is  read,  its  uses  to  the  au- 
thor are  obvious.  Nor  is  a  work  of  fiction  ne- 
cessarily unprofitable  to  the  reader?.  Wlieri  th^ 
vitiated  appetite  refuses  its  proper  fo 


tefative  may  1)e  administered  in  a  sweetmeat. 
It  may  be  imprudent  to  confess  the  presence  of 
the  medicine,  lest  the  sickly  palate,  thus  warn- 
ed, turn  from  it  with  loathing.  Bat  I  rely  in 
this  instance  on  the  word  of  the  philosopher, 
who  avers  that  "  young  ladies  never  read  pre- 
faces;" and  I  am  not  without  hope  that  with 
you,  and  with  all  who  form  exceptions  to  his 
rule,  the  avowal  of  a  useful  purpose  may  be  an 
inducement  to  tolerate  what  otherwise  might  be 
thouglit  unworthy  of  regard. 

Perhaps  in  an  age  whose  lax  morality,  de- 
clining the  glorious  toils  of  virtue,  is  poorly 
"  content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever,"  emu- 
lation may  be  repressed  by  the  eminence  which 
the  character  of  Laura  claims  over  the  ordinary 
standard  of  the  times.  A  virtue  which,  thougli 
essentially  Christian,  is  ceitainly  not  very  po- 
pular in  this  Christian  country,  may  be  stigma- 
tized as  romantic ;  a  chilling  term  of  reproach, 
which  has  blighted  many  a  fair  blossom  of 
goodness  ere  it  ripened  into  fruit.  Perhaps 
some  of  my  fair  countrywomen,  finding  it  dif- 
ficult to  trace  in  the  delineation  of  Self-Co ntrol 
any  striking  feature  of  their  own  minds,  may 
pronounce  my  picture  unnatural.  It  might  be 
enough  to  reply,  that  I  do  not  ascribe  any  of 
the  vhtues  of  Laura  to  nature,  and,  least  of  alb 


the  one  whose  office  is  to  reorulate  and  control 
nature.  But  if  my  principal  figure  want  the 
air  and  vivacity  of  life,  the  blame  lies  in  the 
painter,  not  in  the  subject.  Laura  is  indebted 
to  fancy  for  her  di'apery  and  attitudes  alone.  I 
have  had  the  happiness  of  witnessins;,  in  real 
life,  a  self-command  operating  with  as  much 
force,  pemianence  and  uniformity,  as  that  which 
is  depicted  in  the  following  volumes.  To  you. 
Madam,  I  should  perhaps  rather  apologize  for 
having  left  in  my  model  some  traces  of  human 
imperfection ;  while,  for  the  generality  of  my 
readers,  I  breathe  a  fervent  wish,  that  these 
pages  may  assist  in  enabling  their  own  hearts  to 
furnish  proof  that  the  character  of  Lama,  how- 
ever unnatural,  is  yet  not  unattainable. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be, 
with  great  respect. 
Madam, 

your  obedient  servant, 

THE  AUTHOB. 

January  i  181L 


SELF-CONTROL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  on  a  still  evening'  in  June,  that  Laura  Montreville  left 
her  father's  cottage,  in  the  little  villag-e  of  Glenalbert,  to  begin 
a  solitary  ramble.  Her  countenance  was  mournful,  and  her  step 
languid  ;  for  her  health  had  suffered  from  confinement,  and  her 
spirits  were  exhausted  by  long  attendance  on  the  deathbed  of  her 
mother.  That  labour  of  duty  had  been  lessened  by  no  extrinsic 
circumstance  ;  for  Lady  Harriet  Montreville  was  a  peevish  and 
refractory  patient ;  her  disorder  had  been  tedious  as  well  as  hope- 
less ;  and  the  humble  establishment  of  a  half-pay  officer  furnished 
no  one  who  could  lighten  to  Laura  the  burden  of  constant  attend- 
ance. But  Laura  had  in  herself  that  which  softens  all  difficulty, 
and  beguiles  all  fatigue — an  active  mind,  a  strong  sense  of  duty, 
and  the  habit  of  meeting  and  of  overcoming  adverse  circumstan- 
ces. 

Captain  Montreville  was  of  a  family  ancient  and  respectable, 
but  so  far  from  affluent,  that,  at  the  death  of  his  father,  he  found 
his  wealth,  as  a  younger  son,  to  consist  only  of  500/.  besides  the 
emoluments  arising  from  a  lieutenancy  in  a  regiment  of  foot. 
Nature  had  given  him  a  fine  person  and  a  pleasing  address  :  and 
to  the  national  opinions  of  a  Scottish  mother,  he  was  indebted 
for  an  education,  of  which  the  liberality  suited  better  with  his  birth 
than  with  his  fortunes.  He  was  in  London  negociating  for  the 
purchase  of  a  company,  when  he  accidentally  met  with  Lady  Har- 
riet  Bircham.  Her  person  was  shewy,  and  her  manners  had  the 
glare,  even  more  than  the  polish  of  high  life.  She  had  a  lively 
imagination,  and  some  wit;  had  read  a  little,  and  knew  how  to  shew- 
that  little  to  advantage.  The  fine  person  of  Montreville  soon 
awakened  the  only  sort  of  sensibility  of  which  Lady  Harriet  was 
possessed ;  and  her  preference  was  sufficiently  visible  in  every 
step  of  its  progress.  To  be  distinguished  by  a  lady  of  such  rank 
and  attractions,  raised  in  Montreville  all  the  vanity  of  three-and- 
twenty;  and,  seen  through  that  medium.  Lady  Harriet's  charm* 
were  magnified  to  perfections.     Montreville  soon  was,  or  fancied 

himself,  d^^wateiy  in  lore-    Bq  ^ued^  an4  yrn^  accepted  with  a 


fraiikness,  tu  \vhic*i  hoii.e  ^aii  ad-ocivs  lor  fcmulc  tlcCfiTUTll 
mig-ht  give  rhc  haish  name  of  forwardness.  Montreville  was  in 
iove,  and  he  wus  pleased  to  call  it  the  candour  of  a  noble 
mind. 

A.shis  regijiient  was  at  ttiis  time  under  orders  for  tlie  West  In- 
dies, Lady  Harriet  prevailed  on  him  to  exchange  to  lialf-pay  ;  and 
her  fortune  being- no  more  than  5000/.  economy,  no  lesh  than  the 
fondness  for  solitude  natural  to  young'  men  in  love,  induced  him  to 
retire  to  the  country  with  his  bride,  who  had  reasons  of  her  own 
for  wisliing  to  quit  London.  He  had  been  educated  in  Scotland, 
and  he  remembered  its  wild  scenery  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  man 
of  taste,  and  a  painter.  He  settled'  therefore  in  the  village  of  Gle- 
r.albert,  near  Perth  ;  and  to  relieve  his  conscience  from  the  load  of 
utter  idleness  at  twenty-three,  began  the  superintendence  of  a  lit- 
tle farm.  Here  the  ease  ,iud  vivacity  of  Lady  Harriet  made  her 
for  a  while  the  deliglit  of  her  new  accptaintance.  She  understood 
all  the  arts  of  courtesy  ;  and,  happy  herself,  was  for  a  while  con- 
tent to  practise  them.  The  store  of  anecdote,  which  had  accumu- 
lated in  her  iirlercourse  with  the  great,  passed  with  her  country 
neighbours  for  ki^owledge  of  the  world.  To  Scottish  ears,  the  ac- 
cent of  the  higher  ranks  of  Knglish  conveys  an  idea  of  smartness, 
as  well  as  of  gentility  ;  and  Lady  Harriet  became  an  uuiversal  fa- 
vourite. 

Those  who  succeed  best  in  amusing  strangers,  are  not,  it  has 
been  remarked,  the  most  pleasing  in  domestic  life  :  they  are  not 
even  the  most  entertaining.  Lady  Harriet's  spirits  had  ebbs, 
which  iommonly  took  place  during  a  t^te-a  tete  with  Captain  Mon- 
treville. Outward  attractions,  real  or  imaginary,  are  the  natural 
food  of  passion  ;  but  sound  principles  must  win  confidence,  and 
kindness  of  heart  gain  affection.  Poor  Montreville  soon  gave  a 
mournful  assent  to  these  truths  ;  for  Lady  Harriet  had  no  princi- 
ples, and  her  heart  was  a  mere  "  pulsation  on  the  left  side.'*  Her 
passion  for  her  husband  soon  declined  ;  and  iier  more  permanent 
appetite  for  admiration  finding  but  scanty  food  in  a  sblitary  villagCj 
her  days  passed  in  secret  discontent  or  open  murmurings.  The 
narrowness  of  their  finances  made  her  feel  the  necessity  of  econo- 
my, though  it  could  not  immediately  instruct  her  in  the  art  of  it, 
and  Montreville,  driven  from  domestic  habits  by  the  turmoil  of  a 
household,  bustling  without  usefulness,  and  parsimonious  without 
frugality,  was  on  the  point  of  returning  to  his  profession,  or  of  seek- 
ing relief  in  such  dissipation  as  he  had  the  means  of  obtaining, 
when  the  birth  of  a  daughter  gave  a  new  tiu'n  to  all  his  hopes  and 
wishes. 

"  I  should  not  wish  the  girl  to  be  a  beauty,"  said  he  to  his 
friend,  the  village  pastor.  "  A  pretty  face  is  of  no  use  but  to 
blind  a  lover  ;" — and  he  sighed,  as  he  recollected  his  own  blind- 
ness. Yet  he  was  delighted  to  see  that  Laura  grew  every  day 
.more  lovely.  "  Wit  only  makes  women  troublesome,"  said  he  ; 
but  before  Latira  wasold  enough  to  shew  the  uncommon  acute- 
neas  of  Usr  unde*staiMlii>g,  he  had  quite  forgotten  that  lie  ever  ap- 


plie4  Uie  ren-* ark  to  her.  To  amuse  Iier  infancy  becftme  lils  chosen  - 
recreation.  ^>  instruct  her  youth  was  afterwards  liis  favourite 
employment.  Lady  Harriet,  too,  eirly  began  to  seek  food  for  her  . 
vanity  in  the  superior  endowments  of  her  child,  and  she  forthwith 
determined  that  Laura  should  be  a  paragon.  To  perfect  her  on 
nature's  plan,  never  entered  the  head  of  this  judicious  matron  > 
she  preferred  a  plan  of  her  own,  and  scorned  to  be  indebted  to  tlve 
assistance  of  nature,  even  for  any  pan  of  the  perfect  sti'uclure 
which  she  resolved  to  rear.  I'he  temper  of  Laura,  uniformly  calm 
and  placid,  was  by  nature  slightly  inclined  to  obstinacy.  Lady 
Harriet  had  predetermined  that  her  daughter  should  be  a  model 
of  yielding'  softness  Laura's  spirits  were  inexhaustible  ;  Lady 
Harriet  thought  nothing  so  interesting  as  a  pensive  beauty.  Laura 
was  both  a  reasojiable  and  a  reasoning  creature:  her  mother 
chose  that  she  should  use  the  latter  faculty  iii  every  instance,  ex- 
cept where  maternal  authority  or  opinion  was  cor*cerned.  Innu- 
merable diiHculties,  therefore,  opposed  Lady  Harriet's  system  ; 
and  as  violent  measures  ever  occur  first  to  those  who  are  destitute 
of  other  resources,  she  had  recourse  to  so  many  blows,  disgraces, 
and  deprivations,  as  must  have  effectually  ruined  the  temper  and 
dispositions  of  her  pupil,  if  Laura  had  not  soon  learnt  to  look  upon 
the  ungorerned  anger  of  her  mother  as  a  disease,  to  v/hich  she 
owed  pity  and  concealment.  This  lesson  was  taught  her  partly 
by  the  example  of  her  father,  partly  by  the  admonitions  of  Mrs. 
Douglas,  wife  to  the  clergyman  of  the  parish. 

This  lady  was  in  every  respect  Lady  Harriet's  opposite.  Of 
sound  sense,  rather  than  of  brilliant  abilities ;  reserved  in  her  man- 
ners, gentle  in  her  temper,  pious,  humble,  and  upright;  she 
spent  her  life  in  the  diligent  and  unostentatious  discharge  of 
Christian  and  feminine  duty ;  beloved  without  effort  to  engage  the 
love,  respected  without  care  to  secure  the  praise  of  man.  She 
^ad  always  treated  the  little  Laura  with  more  than  common  ten- 
<Jerness  ;  and  the  child,  unused  to  the  fascinations  of  feminine 
ki'.dness,  repaid  her  attention  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  of  love 
and  veneration.  With  her  she  passed  every  moment  allowed  her 
for  recreation  ;  to  her  she  applied  in  every  little  difficulty  ;  from 
her  she  solicited  every  childish  indulgence.  The  influence  of  thi3 
excellent  woman  increased  with  Laura's  age,  till  her  approbation 
became  essential  to  the  peace  of  her  young  friend,  who  instinctive- 
ly sought  to  read,  in  the  eripressive  coimtcnance  of  Mrs.  Douglas, 
an  opinion  of  all  her  v/ords  and  actions.  Mrs.  Douglas,  ever 
watchful  for  the  good  of  all  who  approached  her,  used  every  efiort 
to  render  this  attachment  as  useful  as  it  was  delightful,  and 
gradually  laid  the  foundation  of  the  most  valuable  quahties  in  the 
nvind  of  Laur.-i.  By  dcgi'ces  she  taught  her  to  know  and  to  love 
the  Author  of  her  being,  to  adoie  Ivim  as  tjie  bestower  of  all  het 
innocent  ])lcasures,  to  seek  his  favour,  or  to  tremble  at  his  disap- 
probation in  every  hour  of  Iier  life.  I^ady  H.in-iet  had  been  edu- 
■  'd  ^mong  those  wlio  despised  or  neglected  the  peculiar  tenets  of 
.  Christian  faitli ;  she  never  thought  of  them,  therefore,  but  a* 
uu  affair  that  gave  scope  to  lively  argument.    On  Mrs.  Douglas.'^ 


JO' 

own  mind  they  bad  their  proper  effect ;  and  slie  convinced  Laura 
that  they  were  not  subjects  for  cavil,  Jbut  for  humble  and  thankful 
acceptation. 

In  as  far  as  the  relit^ious  character  can  be  traced  to  causes  mere- 
ly nati^ral,  it  may  be  fcrmed  by  'hose  Kvbo  <,lnain  ovei*  a  mind  of 
sensibility  and  reflection  the  infltitnce  wb'ch  uffi  ction  bestows, 
provided  that  they  are  tbemselves  duly  impressed  wiih  the  im- 
portance, the  harmony,  the  excellence  of  whrtt  they  teach,  l^aura 
early  saw  the  Christian  doctrines,  preccjvts  and  promises,  warm  the 
heart,  and  guide  tlie  conduct,  and  animate  the  l)opes  of  her  whom 
she  loved  best.  Sympathy  and  imitation,  the  strcmgest  tendencies 
of  infuncy,  first  formed  the  disposition  which  reason  aiu^iwards 
streng'thened  into  principle,  and  Laura  p:rew  up  a  pious  christian. 

It  is  the  fashion  of  the  ag-e  to  accoimt  for  every  striking-  feature  of 
k  character  from  education  or  external  circumstance,  'i'hose  who 
are  fond  of  such  speculations  may  trace,  if  they  can,  the  self-de- 
nying- habits  of  Laura,  to  the  eagerness  with  wl.'ich  hep  enthusias- 
tic mind  imbibed  tlie  stories  of  self-devoting-  patriots  and  martyrjs, 
and  may  find,  in  one  lesson  of  her  preceptress,  the  tint  which  co- 
loured her  future  days.  TJie  child  had  been  reading  a  narrative  of 
the  triumphant  death  of  one  of  the  first  reformers,  and,  full  of  the 
emulation  which  the  tale  of  heroic  virtue  inspires,  exclaimed,  her 
eyes  flashing  through  their  tears,  her  little  form  erect  with  noble 
daring, — "  Let  them  persecute  mii,  and  1  will  fee  a  martyr."  **  You 
maybe  fco  now,  to-day,  every  day,*'  returned  Mrs.  Doug-Ins.  " Jt 
was  not  at  the  stake  that  these  lioly  men  beg-an  their  self-denial. 
They  had  before  taken  up  their  cro;ss  daily ;  and  whenever,  from  a 
regard  to  duty,  you  resign  any  tldng  that  is  pleasing  or  valuable  to 
you,  you  are  for  the  time  a  little  martyr." 

In  a  solitary  village,  remote  from  her  equals  in  age  and  rank, 
Laura  necessarily  lived  much  alone,  and  in  solitude  she  acquired  a. 
Ifrave  and  contemplative  turn  of  mind.  Far  from  the  scenes  of  dis- 
sipation and  frivolity,  conversant  with  the  grand  and  the  subhme 
in  nature,  her  sentiments  assumed  a  corresponding  elevation.  F»i3 
had  heard  that  there  was  vice  in  the  world  ;  she  knew  that  there 
was  virtue  in  it ;  and,  little  acquainted  witli  other  minds,  deeply 
studious  of  her  own,  she  concluded  that  all  mankind  were,  like 
herself,  engaged  in  a  constant  endeavour  after  excellence  ;  thnt 
success  in  this  stnig-gle  was  at  once  virtue  and  hajipincss,  wliile 
failure  included  misery  as  well  as  guilt.  The  hiibit  of  self-exami- 
nation, early  formed,  "and  steadily  maintained,  made  even  venial 
trespass  appear  the  woist  of  evils  :— while,  in  the  labours  of  duty 
and  the  pleasures  of  devotion,  she  found  jays  which  sometimes 
•ose  to  rapture. 

The  capricious  unkindnc.-s  of  her  mother  gave  constant  exer- 
cise to  her  fo;  tiiude  and  foi  bearance,  w}\ile  the  pjinGijjIe  of  charit}-, 
no  less  than  the  feellngj  of  benevolence,  led  to  frequent  efforts  of 
self-denial.  The  latter  virtue  became  daily  more  necessary,  for 
mismanagement  had  now  brought  her  mother's  fortune  alnwst  to 
a  close  ;  and  Captain  Montreville,  while  he  felt  that  she  was  in- 
juring bis  child,  could  not  prevail  on  himself  to  wixhhold  ff»m  L:i.>Vv 


11 

Harriet  the  control  of  what  he  considered  as  her  o^^-n,  especially 
as  her  healtli  was  sucli  as  to  afford  a  plea  for  indulgence. 

Laura  had  reached  her  sixteenth  year,  when  Mr.  Doug-las  was 
induced,  by  a  larger  benefice,  to  remove  to  a  parish  almost  twenty 
miles  distant  from  Glenalbert ;  and  parting-  with  her  early  friend, 
was  the  severest  sorrow  that  Laura  had  ever  yet  known.  Captain 
Moutreville  promised,  however,  that  his  daughter  should  often 
visit  the  new  parsonage  ;  but  Lady  Harriet's  increasing  illness 
long  prevented  the  performance  of  his  promise.  After  a  confine- 
ment of  many  months  she  died,  and  was  lamented  l>y  her  husband, 
with  that  sortof  son'ow  which  it  usually  costs  a  man  to  part  with 
an  object  which  he  is  accustomed  to  see,  when  lie  knows  that  he 
shall  see  it  no  moi  e. 

It  was  on  the  third  evening  after  her  mother's  funeral,  that  Cap- 
tain Montreville  prevailed  on  liis  daughter  to  take  a  solitary  walk. 
Slowly  she  ascended  the  hill  that  overlooked  the  village,  and  stop- 
ping  near  its  brow,  looked  back  towards  the  churchyard,   to  ob- 
serve a  brown  hillock  that  mai  ked  the  spot  where  her  mother  slept. 
Tears  filled  her  eyes,  as,  passing  over  long  intervals  of  unkindness, 
she  recollected  some  casual  proof  of  maternal  love  ;  and  they  fell 
fa:it  as  she  remembered,  that  for  that  love  she  could  now  make  no 
return.     Siie  turned  to  proceed  ; — and  the  moist  eye  sparkled  with 
pleasure,  tlie  faded  cheek  glowed  with   more  than  the   flush  of 
health,  when,  springing  towards  her,  ^he  beheld  the  elegant,  the 
i  accomplished  Culanel  Margrave.     Forgotten  was  languor;  forgot- 
1  ten  vvas  sorrow;  tor  Laura  was  just  seventeen,  and  Colonel  Har- 
I  giave  was  tlie  most  ardent,  the  most  favoured  of  lovers.     His  per- 
l^son  was  symmetry  itself;  his  manners  had  all  the  fascination  that 
/vivacity  and  intelligence,  joined  to  tlie  highest  polish,  can  bestow, 
i- His  love  for  Laura  suited  with  the  impetuosity  of  his  character, 
I  and  for  more  than  a  year  he  had  laboured  with  assiduity  and  suc- 
1  ccsi  to  inspire  a  passion  corresponding  to  his  own.     Yet  it  was  not 
I  Ha'grave  whom  Laura  loved  ;  for  the  being  on  whom  she  doated 
had  no  resemblance  to  him  but  in  externals.     It  was  a  creature  in 
her   imagination,  pure  as  her  own  heart,  yet  impassioned  as  the 
wildest  dreams  of  fiction — intensely  susceptible  of  pleasure,  and 
I  keenly  alive  to  pain,  yet  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  the  one,  and  to  dc- 
;  spise  the  other.     This  ideal  being,  clothed  with  the  fine  form,  and 
adorned  with  the  insinuating  manners,  and  animated  with  the  in- 
fectious love  of  Hargrave,  what  heart  of  woman  could  resist  ? 
Laur:i's  was  completely  captivated. 

Hargrave,  charmed  with  her  consummate  loveliness,  pleased 
with  lier  cheerful  good  sense,  and  fascinated  with  her  matchless 
simplicity,  at  first  sought  her  society  without  thought  but  of  pre- 
sent f^-ratificalion  till  he  was  no  longer  master  of  himself  He 
possessed  an  ample  fortune,  besides  the  near  prospect  of  a  title  ; 
and  nothing  was  farther  from  his  thoughts,  than  to  make  the  poo:- 
unknown  Laura  a  shi)  er  in  these  advantages.  But  Hargrave  was 
not  yet  a  villain,  ani  he  shuddered  at  the  tliought  of  seduction, 
"twill  see  her  only  once  more,"  said  he,   "and  the.i  tear  myself 


12 

fiOiA  her  for  ever."-—*'  Only  this  once,"  said  he,  while  day  iftcr 
day  he  continued  to  visit  her, — to  watch  with  delight,  and  to  che- 
rish with  eager  solicitude,  the  tenderness  which,  amidst  her  daily 
increasing'  reserve,  his  practised  eye  could  distinguisii.  The  pas- 
sion which  we  do  not  conquer  will  in  time  reconcile  us  to  any 
means  that  can  aid  its  Ratification.  "  To  leave  her  now  would  be 
dishonourable,  it  would  be  barbarous,"  was  his  answer  to  his 
remonstrating  conscience,  as  he  marked  the  glow  of  her  complex- 
ion at  his  approach,  the  tremor  of  her  hand  at  his  pressure.  "  I 
cannot,  indeed,  make  her  my  wife.  The  woman  whom  I  marry 
must  assist  in  supporting^  the  rank  which  she  is  to  fill.  But  Laura 
is  not  made  for  high  life.  Short  commerce  with  the  world  would 
destroy  lialf  her  witchery.  Love  will  compensate  to  us  for  every 
privation.  1  will  hide  her  and  myself  from  a  censorious  world  ; 
she  loves  solitude  ;  and,  with  her,  solitude  will  be  delightful."— 
lie  forgot  that  solitude  is  delightful  to  the  innocent  alone. 

Meantime,  the  artless  Laura  saw,  in  his   highly  coloured  pic- 
tures of  happy  love,  only  scenes  of  domestic  peace  and  literary 
leisure;  and  judging  of  liis  feelings  by  her  own,  dreamed  not  of 
aught  that  vt^ould  have  disgraced  the  loves  of  angels.    Tedious 
weeks   of  absence   had  intervened  since  their  last  meeting  ;  and 
Hargrave's  resolution  was  taken.     To  live  without  her  was  im- 
possible ;  and  he  was  determined  to  try  whether  he  had  overrated 
the  strengtli  of  her  affection,  when  he  ventured  to  hope  that  to  it 
she  would  sacrifice  her  all.     To  meet  her  thus  unexpectedly  filled 
him  with  joy,  and  the  heart  of  Laura  throbbed  quick  as  he  ex- 
pressed his  rapture.     Never  had  his  professions  been  so  ardent  ; 
and,  softened  by  sorrow  and  by  absence,  never  had  Laura  felt  such 
seducing  tenderness  as  now  stole  upon  her.     Unable  to  speak,  and 
unconscious  of  her  path,  she  listened  with  sileiit  rapture  to  the 
glowing  language  of  her  lover,  till  his  entreaties  wrung  from  her  a 
reluctant  confession  of  her  preference.     Unmindful  of  the  feeling 
of  humiliation,  that  makes  the  moment  of  such  a  confession,  of  all 
others,  the  least  favourable  to  a  lover's  boldness,  Hargrave  pour- 
ed forth  the  most  vehement  expressions  of  passion  ;  while,  shrink- 
ing into  herself,  Laura  now  first  ob&erved,  that  the  shades  of  e\en- 
ing   were  closing  fast,   while  their  lonely  path  led  through  a  wood 
that  Climbed  the  rocky  hilL—She  stopped.—"  I  must  return,"  said 
»he,  "  my  father  will  be  anxious  for  me  at  this  hour." — "  Talk  not 
now  of  returning,"  cried  Hargrave  impetuously,  "trust  yourself 
to  a  heart  that  adores  you.     Keward  all  my  lingering  pains,  andi 
let  this  happy  hour  begin  a  life  of  love  and  rapture." — Laura, 
wholly  unconscious  of  his  meaning,  looked  up  in  his  face  with  an 
innocent   snriilc.     "  I  have  often    taxed   you   with  raving,"  said 
she,  "novv-,   I  am  sure,   you  must  admit  the  charge."— "  Do  not 
sport  with  me,  loveliest,"  cried  Hargrave,  "  nor  waste  those  pre- 
cious moments  in  cold  delay.     Leave  forms  to  the  frozen  hearts 
that  wait  tliem,  and  be  from  this  hour  mine,   wholly  and  forever." 
Laura  threw  a  tearful  glance  on  her  moumirg  habit.     "Is  this 
like  bridal  attire '"  said  sh&:  "Would  you  bring  your  nuptial 


13 

festivities  into  the  house  of  deatl^  and  minp^lc  .^^^.^^^^^^^^f 
T^arriaec  vow  with  my  mother's  drmgr  R:roans  .'  ^  »"  ,^^>^^  ^  "^l^'!" 
Sty  be  affected >  thought  Havfcrave.  Is  .t  that  she  Nvdl  not  umlc  r- 
s  and  me?  He  examiLd  her  countcnaiice.  All  there  was  candour 
und unsuspecting  love.  Herarm  rested  onh.s  vvitheonfidiuffpn..s- 
sure,  and  For  a  moment  Har^-ave  faltered  m  Ins  purpose.  1  he 
next  he  imagined  that  he  had  gone  too  far  to  i-ecede  ;  and  pressing 
her  to  his  breast  with  all  the  vehentence  of  passion,  he.  in  hurried 
half-articulate  whispers,  informed  her  of  his  real  uesigi^  /"'* 
words  can  express  her  feelings,  wlien,  the  ved  thus  rudely  torn 
from  her  eves,  she  saw  her  pure,  her  magnanimous  Hurgrave— 
tlie  god  of'  her  idolatry,  degraded  to  a  sensualist-^a-  seducer. 
Casting  on  him  a  look  of  mingled  horror,  dismay,  and  anguish, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Are  you  so  base?"  and  freeing  herself  wilh  con- 
vulsive struggle,  from  his  gra^p,  sunk  without  sense  or  moUon  to 
the  ground.  v'  , 

-As  he  gazed  on  the  death-pale  face  of  Laura,  and  raised  her  iitc- 
'less  form  from  the  earth,  compassion,  which  so  often  survives  prin- 
ciple, overpowered  all  Hargrave's  impetuous  feehngs;  and  they 
were  succeeded  by  the  chill  of  horror,  as  the  dreadful  idea  occur- 
red  to  him,  that  she  was  gone  for  ever.  In  vain  he  cliafed  her  cold 
-hands,  tried  to  warm  her  to  life  in  his  bosom,  bared  hers  to  the  eve- 
ning-breeze, and  distractedly  called  for  help  ;  while,  with  agony, 
which  every  moment  increased,  he  remembered,  what  so  lately  he 
had  thought  of  with  delight,  that  no  human  help  was  near.  No 
sign  of  returning  life  appeai'ed.  At  last  he  recollected  that,  in  tht.'^r 
w.dk,  they  had  at  some  distance  crossed  a  little  stream,  and  start- 
ing up  with  renovated  hope,  he  ran  to  it  with  the  speed  of  liglittiing  .- 
but  the  way,  which  was  so  short  as  he  passed  it  before, -now  seem - 
'Cd  lengthened  witliout  end.  At  last  he  reached  it;  and  filling  liis 
hat  witk  water,  returned  with  bis  utmost  speed.  He  <lartcd  for 
ward  till  he  found  himself  at  the  verge  of  tlie  wood,  and  then  fiis-' 
perceived  that  he  had  mistaken  tlie  path.  As  he  retraced  his  steps, 
a  thousand  times  he  cursed  his  precipitancy,  and  w  ished  that  he 
had  more  cautiously  ascertained  the  sentiments  of  his  mistress,  ere 
he  permitted  his  licentious  purpose  to  be  seen.  After  a  seaixh, 
prolonged  by  liis  own  frantic  impatience,  he  arrived  at  tl\e  spot 
w^here  he  left  her; — but  no  Laura  was  there  He  called  wildly  on 
her  name — he  was  answered  by  the  mountain-echo  alor.c.  Aftci- 
seeking  her  loag,  a  hope  arose  that  ;she  had  been  able  to  reach  the 
village;  and  thither  he  determined  to  return,  that,  should  liis  liop6 
prove  groundless,  he  might  atlea$t  pi'ocui'e  assistance  in  his  search. 

As  he  approached  the  little  garden  that  surrounded  Captain 
Montrevilie's  cottage,  lie  with  joy  perceived  a  Ught  at  the  wliidow 
of  Laura's  apaitmeut;  and  nevc^,  in  the  cheerfukst  scenes,  had  he 
beheld  her  with  such  delight  as  he  did  now,  wlicn  every  gesture 
«eemed  the  expression  of  unutterable  anguish.  He  drew  nearer, 
and  saw  despair  painted  on  every  feature  ;  and  he  felt  how  tender 
was  the  love  that  could  thus  mourn  liis  degeneracy,  and  its  own 
b5iglued  hepc£.    If  slie  cc^id  thus  feel.for  bis  guilt,  the  thouglit  iri 

B 


u 


nesislibly  pressed  on  his  miiid,  with  what  bitterness  would  she  feel 
her  o\vn.  Seduction,  he  perceived,  would  with  her  be  a  work  of  time 
and  difficulty ;  while,  could  he  determine  to  make  her  his  wife  he 
was  secure  of  her  utmost  gratitude  and  tenderness.  The  known 
honour,  too,  of  Captain  MontreviUe  made  the  seduction  of  his 
daug-hter  rather  a  dangerous  exploit;  and  Colonel  Hargrave  knew, 
that,  jn  spite. of  the  license  of  the  times,  should  he  destroy  the 
daughter  s  honour,  and  the  father's  life,  he  would  no  longer  be  re- 
ceived, even  m  the  most  fashionable  circles,  with  the  cordiahty  he 
could  at  present  command.  The  dignified  beauty  of  Laura  would 
grace  a  coronet,  and  more  than  excuse  the  weakness  which  raised 
her  to  tliat  distinction:— his  wife  would  be  admired  and  followed, 
whae  all  her  affections  would  be  his  alone.  In  fancy  he  presented 
her  glittering  with  splendour,  or  majestic  in  unboiTowed  loveliness, 
to  hib  companions  ;  saw  the  gaze  of  admiration  follow  wherever  she 
turned;— and  that  thought  determined  him.  He  would  go  next 
morning,  and  in  form  commence  honourable  lover,  by  laying  his  pre- 
tensions before  Captain  MontreviUe.  Should  Laura  have  acquaint- 
ed her  father  with  the  adventures  of  the  evening,  he  might  feel  some 
little  awkwardness  in  his  first  visit  ;'but  she  might  perhaps  have  kept 
hU  secret ;  and,  at  all  events,  his  generous  intentions  would  repair 
his  offence.  Satisfied  with  himself,  he  retired  to  rest,  and  enjoyed  a 
repose  that  visited  not  the  pillow  of  the  innocent  Laura. 


CHAPTER  11. 

ScA-ncELv  had  Hargrave  quitted  Laura,  when  her  senses  be- 
\;an  to  return,  and  with  them  an  indefinite  feeling  of  danger  and 
.alarm.  The  blood  gushing  from  her  mouth  and  nostrils,  she  quickly 
revived  to  a  full  sense  of  her  situation,  and  instinctively  endeavour- 
ed to  quit  a  spot  now  so  dark  and  lonely.  Terror  gave  her  sti'ength 
to  proceed.  Every  path  in  Irer  native  woods  was  familiar  to  her  ; 
she  darted  through  them  with  what  speed  she  could  command  ;  and, 
reckless  of  all  danger  but  that  from  which  she  fled,  she  leapt  from 
the  projecting  rocks,  or  gradually  descended  from  the  more  fearful 
dechvities,  by  clinging  to  the  trees  which  burst  from  the  fissures ; 
till,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  she  reached  the  valley,  and  entered  the 
garden  that  surrounded  her  home.  Here,  supported  no  longer  by 
the  sense  of  danger,  her  spirits  utterly  failed  her;  and  she  threw 
herself  on  the  ground,  without  a  wish  but  to  die. 

From  this  state  she  was  roused  by  the  voice  of  her  father,  who, 
on  the  outside  of  the  fence,  was  inquiring  of  one  of  the  villagers, 
whether  she  had  been  seen.  Wishing,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  to 
escape  all  human  eyes,  she  rose,  and,  without  meeting  Captain 
MontreviUe,  gained  her  own  apartment.  As  she  closed  her  door, 
and  felt  for  a  moment  the  sense  of  security,  which  every  one  expe- 
riences in  the  chamber  which  he  calls  his  own,-^^*  Oh  !"  cried  she 
"  that  I  could  thus  shut  out  the  base  wcrld  for  ever." 


^ 


15 

There  was  In  Laura's  chamber  one  spot,  which  had,  in  her  eyes, 
SDmethinjj  of  holy,  for  it  was  hallowed  by  tiic  regular  devotions  of  • 
luT  life.  On  it  she  had  breatlied  her  first  infant  prayer.  Thtre  shore 
on  her  the  eastern  sun,  as  sheoftcred  her  morning  tribute  of  prai«e. 
There  first  fell  the  shades  of  evening  that  invited  her  to  implore 
the  protection  of  her  God.  On  that  spot  she  had  so  often  sought 
consolation,  so  often  found  her  chief  delight,  that  it  was  associated 
in  her  mind  with  images  of  hope  and  comfort ;  and  springing  towards 
it,  she  now  almost  unconsciou.sly  dropped  upon  her  knees.  While 
she  poured  forth  her  soul  in  prayer,  her  anguish  softened  into  re- 
signation ;  and  with  tlie  bitter  tears  of  disappointment,  those  of  gra- 
titude mingled,  while  she  thanked  Him  who,  though  He  had  visited 
her  with  affliction,  had  preserved  her  from  guilt. 

She  rose,  composed  though  wretched,  resi^»ed  though  hopeless  ; 
and,  when  summoned  to  supper,  had  sufficient  recollection  to  com- 
mand her  voice,  while  she  excused  herself  on  the  plea  of  a  violent 
head-ache.  Left  to  herself,  she  passed  Lhe  sleepless  night,  now  in 
framing  excuses  for  her  lover,  now  in  tormenting  reflections  on  her 
mistaken  estimate  of  his  character  ;  and  in  bitter  regrets  that  what 
seemed  so  excellent  should  be  marred  witli  so  foul  a  stain.  But 
Laura's  thoughts  were  so  habitually  the  prelude  to  action,  that,  even 
in  the  severest  conflict  of  her  powers,  she  was  not  likely  to  rempia 
long  in  a  state  of  ineffective  meditation.  "  What  ought  I  no^^  to 
do  ?''  was  a  question  which,  from  childhood,  Laura  had  every  hour 
habitually  asked  herself;  and  the  iri'esistible  force  of  the  habit  of 
many  years,  brought  the  same  question  to  her  mind  when  she  rose 
with  the  dawn. 

With  a  heavy  hea^^,  she  was  obliged  to  confess,  that  delicacy,  no 
less  than  prudence,  must  forbid  all  future  intercourse  with  Har- 
grave.  But  he  had  for  sometime  been  a  constant  visitor  at  the  cot- 
tage, till  excluded  _by  the  increasing  illness  of  lady  Harriet.  He 
might  now  renew  his  visits,  and  how  was  it  possible  to  prev«nt  this  ? 
Should  she  refuse  to  see  him,  her  father  must  be  made  acquainted 
with  the  cause  of  such  a  refusal,  and  she  could  not  doubt  that  the 
consequences  would  be  such  as  she  shuddered  to  think  of.  She 
groaned  aloud  as  the  horrid  possibility  occurred  to  her,  that  hor 
father  might  avenge  her  wrongs  at  the  expense  of  his  virtue  and  his 
nte— become  for  her  sake  a  murderer,  or  fall  bv  a  murderer's  hand 
She  mstantly  resolved  to  conceal  for  ever  the  insuh  she  had  receiv- 
ed ;  and  to  this  resolution  she  determined  that  all  other  circxim- 
stances  should  bend.  Yet  should  she  receive  Colonel  Hargi-uve  as 
formerly,  what  might  he  not  have  the  audaucity  to  infer  ?  How  could 
she  make  him  fully  sensible  of  her  indignant  feelings,  vet  act  such  a 
part  as  might  deceive  the  penetration  of  her  father  ?  'Act  a  part'— 
deceive  her  father  !  Laura's  thoughts  were  usuallv  clear  and  dis- 
tinct;  and  there  was  something  in  this  distinct  idea  of  evasion  and 
deceit,  that  sickened  her  very  soul.  This  was  the  first  svstem  of 
concealment  that  had  ever  darkened  her  fair  and  candid  mind  • 
and  she  wept  bitterly  when  she  convinced  herself,  that  from  such 
conduct  there  was  oo  escape. 


16 

bhesatlostin  those  distressing  reilecticms,  till  the  clock  struck 
"he  hour  of  breakfast;  then  recollecting- that  she  must  not  suffer  her 
:ippearance  to  betray  her,  she  ran  to  her  glass,  and  witli  more  inter- 
est  than  she  had  perhaps  ever  before  felt  in  tlie  employment,  pro- 
r-ecdod  to  dress  her  countenance  to  advantage.  She  bathed  her 
s'.voltcn  eyes,  shaded  them  with  the  natural  ringlets  of  her  dark 
iiair,  rubbed  her  wan  cheeks  till  tlieir  colour  returned,  and  then  en- 
tered the  parlour  with  an  overacted  gaiety  that  surprised  Captain 
Montreville.  "- 1  scarcely  expected/'  said  he,  "  to  see  you  so  very 
:  nimatcd,  after  being  so  ill  as  to  go  to  rest  last  night,  for  the  fir&.t 
lime  in  yovir  life,  without  your  father's  blessing." 

Laura,  instantly  sensible  of  her  mistake,  colouring,  stammered 
-oinethingofthe  cheering  itifluence  of  the  morning  air;  and  then 
meditating- on  a  proper  medium  in  bcr  demeanour,  sunk  into  so  long 
:i  silence,  as  Captain  Montreville  qould  not  have  failed  to  remark, 
had  not  his  attention  been  diverted  by  the  arrival  of  the  newspaper, 
which  he  continued  to  study  till  breakfast  was  ended,  when  Laura 
jjladiy  retired  to  her  room. 

Though  the  understanding  of  Laura  was  aboi^  her  voars,  she  had. 
not  escaped  a  mistake  common  to  the  youth  of  both'  sexes,  when 
sm-uting  under  a  reoent  disappointment  'in  love, — the  mistake  of  aup- 
5'osingj  that  alt  the  intei-est  of  life  is,  with  respect  to  them,  at  an  end, 
:ind  t!) at  their  days  must  thenceforth  bring  only  a  dull  routine  of 
duties  without  incitement,  and  of  toile  without  hope.  But  the  lead- 
ing principle  of  Laura'ahfe  was  capable  of  giving,  usefulness,  and 
almost  respectability,  even  to  her  errors  ;  and  the  gloom  of  the  wild- 
e:'ness  through  which  her  path  seemed  to  lie,  only  brightened,  by 
contrast,  the  splendour  that  Lay  bcj-^ond.  "The  world,'/  thought 
s  le,  *♦  has  now  nothing  to  offer  that  I  covet,  and  little  to  tlireaten 
tiat  I  fear.  What  then  remains  but  to  do  my  duty,  unawed  by  its. 
tiireatcnings,  unbribed  by  its  joys.  Ere  this  cloud  dai-kcned  all  my 
earthly  prospects,  I  was  not  untaught,  though  I  had  too  much  for-- 
goiten  the  lesson,  that  it  was  not  for  pastime  1  was  sent  hither.  I 
vin  here  as  a  soldier,  who  strives  in  an  enemy's  land  ;  as  one  who 
-n  ist  run — must  wrestle— must  strain  every  nerve — exert  every 
power,  nor  once  sb.rink  from  the  struggle  till  the  priae  is  my  own. 
N;>r  do  I  live  for  nnsclf  alone  I  have  a  friend;  to  gratifj- — the 
;  jor  to  relieve — the  sorrowful  to  console— a  father's  age  to  comfort 
-a  God  to  serve.  And  shall  selfish  feeling  disincline  mc  to  sudi 
>i'ities  as  these  ?  No,  with  more  >  ban  sjeeming  cliccrfulness,  I  will 
perform  them  all.  I  will  thank  Heaven  for  exempting  mo. from  tlie 
\\d'  iicavier  task  of  honouring  and  obeying  a  profligate. 

A  prodigate  !  Must  she  apply  such' a  name  to  Hargrave!  The 
.  nthusiusm  of  the  moment  expired  attlie  word,  and  the  glow  of  vir. 
iUDU.s  resolution  faded  to    he  paleness  of  despondency  and  pai)i. 

From  a  long  and  melancholy  reverie,  Laura   was  awakened  by  the 

ound  of  the  garden  gate,  and  she  perceived  that  it  was  entered  hy 

Colonel  Harg-rave.     Instinctively  she  v*as  retreating  from  the   win-  " 

flow,  when  she  saw  him  joined  by  her  father;  and,  trembling  lest 

■  aiulour  was  about  to  confess,  or  inydvcrtencQ  tp  betj-ay,  what  eHj 


kV 


1/ 


17 


so  much  wished  to  conceal,  she  continued  witli  breallilesa  ansrety 
vo  watch  their  conference. 

Though  Colonel  Hargrave  was  certainly  one  of  the  best  bred 
men  in  the  khigdom,  and,  of  consequence,  entirely  divested  of  the 
awkwardness  of  mauvaise  honte^  it  must  be  confessed,  that  he  en- 
tered the  presence  of  the  father  of  Laura  with  rather  less  than  his 
accustomed  ease  ;  but  the  cordial  solution  of  Captain  Montrevillc 
banishing  all  fear  that  the  lady  had  been  too  communicative,  our 
lover  proceeded,  without  any  remaining  embarrassment,  to  unfold 
the  purpose  of  his  visit  Nor  could  any  one  have  conjectured,  from 
the  courtly  condescension  of  the  great  man,  that  he  conceived  he 
was  bestov  ing  a  benefit,  nor  from  the  manly  frankness  of  the  other, 
that  he  considered  himself  aS  receiving  a  favour.  Notbullhavthc 
Colonel  was  in  full  possession  of  the  pleasures  of  conscious  gene- 
rosity and  condescension.  So  complete,  indeed,  was  his  self-ap- 
probation, that  he  doubted  not  but  his  present  magnanimous  re- 
solve would  efface  from  the  mind  of  Laura  all  resentment  for  his 
ottence.  Her  displeasure  he  thought  Would  be  very  short  lived, 
if  he  were  able  to  convince  her  that  his  fault  was  not  premeditated. 
This  he  conceived  to  be  an  amj^le  excuse,  because  lie  chose  to 
consider  the  insult  he  had  offered,  apart  from  the  base  propensities, 
the  unbridled  selfishness  which  it  indicated.  AsLaurahad  so  well 
concealed  his  indiscretion,  he  was  too  good  a  politician  himself  to 
expose  it;  and  he  proceeded  to  make  such  offers  in  regard  to  set- 
tlements, as  suited  the  liberality  of  his  character. 

Captain  Montreville  listened  with  undisguised  satisfaction  to  pro- 
posals apparently  so  advantageous  to  his  beloved  child;  but,  wliile 
he  expressed  his  entire  approbation  of  the  Colonel's  suit,  regard  to 
feminine  decorum  made  him  add,  "  that  he  was  determined  to  put 
no  constraint  on  the  inclinations  of  his  daughter."  The  Colonel 
felt  a  strong  conviction,  that  no  constraint  would  be  necessary  :_ 
nevertheless,  turning  a  neat  period,  importing  his  willingness  to 
resign  his  love,  rather  than  interfere  with  the  happiness  of  Miss 
Montreville,  he  closed  the  conference,  by  intreating  that  the  Cap- 
fain  would  give  him  an  immecFiate  opportunity  of  learning  his  fate 
fi'onti  the  hps  of  the  fair  Laura  herself. 

Laura  had  continued  to  follow  them  with  her  eyes,  till  they  en- 
tered the  house  together;  and  the  next  minute  Captain  Montre* 
ville  knocked  at  her  door. 

•*lf  yom-  head-ache  is  not  quite  gone,"  said  he,  with  a  signifi- 
cant  smile,  "  I  will  venture  to  recommend  a  physician.  Colonel 
Hargrave  is  waiting  to  prescribe  for  you  ;  and  you  may  repay  him 
in  kind,  for  he  tells  me  he  has^  a  case' for  your  consideration  " 

Laura  was  on  the  point  of  protesting  against  any  communicatiwi 
with  Colonel  Hargrave;  but  instantly  recollecting  the  explanation 
th  at  would  be  necessary,  "  I  will  go  to  him  this  instant,"  she  cx- 
cl  aimed  with  an  eagerness  that  astonished  her  father. 

"  Surely,  you  will  first  smooth  these  reddish  locks  of  yours,*" 
a  aid  he,  fondly  stroking  his  hand  over  her  dark  auburn  hair.  "  I 
iear  so  much  ImjtQ  may  make  the  Colonel  rain." 

3^ 


18 

Laura  c(»loarccl  violently-;  for,  amidst  all  Ijerfeai's  of  a  tliscovc- 
IT,  slie  found  place  for  a  strong  feeling  of  resentment,  at  the  easy 
fiecuritv  of  forgiveness  that  seemed  intimated  by  a  visit  so  immedi- 
ately succeeding  the  ofFcnce.  Having  employed  the  few  momenta 
she  passed  at  her  toilette  in  collecting  her  thoughts,  she  descended 
to  tl)e  p:irlour,  fully  resolved  to  give  no  countenance  to  the  hopes 
iier  lover  might  have  built  on  her  sujjposed  weakness.  ^ 

The  Colonel  was  akne  ;  and,  as  she  opened  tlie  door,  eagerly  acT 
vanced  towards  her.  "  My  adored  Laura,"  cried  he,  "  this  conde- 
scension  -."     Had  he  staid  to  read  the  pale,  but  resolute  coun^ 

tcnance  of  his  "  adored'*  Laura,  he  would  have  spared  his  thanks 
for  her  condescension. 

She  interrupted  him.  "Colonel  Hargi-ave,'*' said  she,  with  im* 
posing  seriousness,  "  I  have  a  request  to  make  to  you-  Perhaps 
the  peace  of  my  life  depends  upon  your  compliance," 

"  Ah,  Laura !  what  request  can  I  refuse,  where  I  have  so  much 
to  ask  ?" 

"  Promise  me,  that  you  will  never  make  knmvn  to  my  father- 
that  you  will  take  every  means  to  conceal  from  him  the — ,"  she  he- 
sitated, "  the — our  meeting  last  night,"  she  added,  rejoiced  to  have 
found  a  palliative  expression  for  her  meaning. 

*'  Qh  !  dearest  Laura  !  forget  it;  think  of  it  no  more." 

'*  Promise — promise  solemnly-  If  indeed,"  added  she  shudder.^ 
ing,  M  hile  an  expression  of  sudden  anguish  crossed  her  features, 
"  if  indeed  promises  can  weigh  \\  ith  such  a  one  as  you." 

*'  For  pity's  sake,  speak  not  such  cutting  words  as  those." 

**  Colonel  Hargrave,  will  you  give  me  )?our  promise !" 

"  I  do  promise — solemnly  promise.  Say,  but  that  you  forgive 
mo." 

*'  I  thank  you,  Sir,  for  so  far  insuring  the  safety  of  my  dear  fa- 
thc-,  since  he  might  have  risked  his  life  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of 
his  child.  You  cannot  be  surprised,  if  I  now  wish  to  close  our  ac- 
qviaintancCj'as  speedily  as  may  be  consistent  witli  the  concealment 
so  imfortunately  neces.^.ary.'* 

Impatient  to  conclude,  an  interview  which  tasked  her  fortitude  to 
the  utmost,  Laura  was  about  to  retire.  Hargi'ave  seized  her  hand. 
"Surely,  Laura,  you  will  not  leave  me  thus.  You  cannot  I'efuse 
forgiveness  to  a  fault  caused  by  intemperate  passion  alone.  The 
only  atonement  in  my  power,  I  now  come  to  offer :  my  hand — my 
fortune — my  future  rank;" 

The  native  spirit,  and  wounded  delicacy  of  Laura,,  flashed  from 
her  eyes,  while  she  replied .-  "  I  fear.  Sir,  I  shall  not  be  suitably 
grateful  for  your  generosity,  while  I  recollect  the  alternative  you 
would  have  preferred."  .      .         ' 

i'his  was.  the  first  time  that  Laura  had  ever  appeared  to  her  lo* 
.cr,  other  than  the  tendci-,  the  timid  girl.  From  this  character  she 
;'?emed  to  have  started  at  once  into  tlie  high-spirited,  the  dignified 
^voman;  and,  witli  a  truly  masculine  passion  for  variety,  Hargiave 
i!iou;;;lil  r.e  had  never  seen  her  half  so.  fascinating.  .** My  angelic 
'  "■     ■      ■    .  ,   L;  kneU  before  h^v,  "  JoyeUcr  in  yovu- cruelty. 


19 

Buffer  me  to  prove  to  you  my  repentance— my  reverence— my  ado- 
ration ;  suffer  me  to  prove  them  to  tlie  world,  by  uniting  oui*  fates 
for  ever." 

*•  It  is  fit  the  guilty  should  kneel,"  said  Laura,  turning  awny, 
"*  but  not  to  their  fellow  mortals.  Rise,  Sir,  tliis  homage  to  me  is 
but  mockeiy." 

«*  Say,  then,  that  you  forgive  me ;  say,  ^hat  you  will  accept  the 
tenderness,  the  duty  of  my  future  life." 

*'  What !  rather  tlian  control  your  passions,  will  you  now  stoop 
to  receive  as  your  wife,  her  wliom  so  iaiely  you  ihougjit  vile 
er^ough  for  the  lowest  degradation  ?  Impossible !  yours  I  can 
never  be.  Our  views,  our  principles,  are  opposite  as  light  and 
darkness*  How  shall  I  call  heaven  to  witness  the  prost'itution  of 
its  own  ordinances?  How  siiall  I  ask  the  blessing  of  my  Maker, 
on  my  union  with  a  being  at  enmity  with  him  V 

«  Good  heavens,  Laura,  will  you  sacriilce  to  a  punctilio — to  a  fit 
of  Calvinistic  enthusiasm,  the  peace  of  my  life,  the  peace  of  youi' 
owni  I  You  have  owned  that  you  love  mc — 1  have  seen  it— tlchght- 
cd  seen  it  a  thousand  times — and  will  you  now  desert  me  for 
ever  ?" 

"  1  do  not  act  upon  punctilio,"  returned  Laura  Cvilmly: — "  I 
believe  1  am  no  entliusiast.  "What  have  been  my  sentiments,  is  now 
of  no  importance;  to  ui\itc myself  with  vice  would  be  deliberate 
w  ickedncss — to  hope  for  happmess  from  such  an  union  would  be 
desperate  folly." 

*'  Dearest  Laura,  boimd  by  your  charms,  allured  by  your  exam- 
ple, my  reformation  would  be  certain,  my  virtue  secure." 

"  Oh,  hope  it  not! — Familiar  with  my  form,  my  only  hold  on 
5^our  regard,  you  would  neglect,  forsake,  despise  me ;  and,  who 
should  say  that  my  punishment  was  not  just," 

"  And  will  you  then,"  cried  Hargrave,  in  an  agony;  **  Will  you 
then  cast  mc  off  for  ever  ?  Will  you  drive  me  for  ever  from  your 
heart  ?" 

"  1  have  now  no  choice — leaA'e  me— forget  mc — seek  some  woman 
less  fivstidious;  or  rather  endeavour,  by  your  virtues,  to  deserve 
one  superior  far.     Then  honoured,  beloved,  as  a  husbruid,  as  a  fa- 

ther" The   fcrtitude  of  Laura  failed  before   the  pictiue  of  her 

fancy,  dnd  she  was  unable  to  pi'oceed.  Determined  to  conceal  her 
weakness  from  Hargrave,  she  broke  from  him,  and  hurried  towards 
the  door; — but,  melting  into  tenderness  at  the  thought  that  this 
interview  was  perhaps  the  last,  she  turned.  "Oh, Hargrave,"  she 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  as  in  supplication,  "  have  pity  oi\  your- 
self— have  pity  on  me forsake  tlie  fatal  path  on  which  you  have 

entered,  that,  though  for  ever  torn  from  }  ou  here,  I  may  yet  meet 
you  in  a  better  world.  ^  , 

She  then  darted  from  the  roGm,leavingher  lover.ittdtunb  amaze- 
ment, at  the  conclusion  of  an  interview  so  different  from  his  ex- 
pectations. For  the  resentment  of  Laura  he  had  been  prepared;  but 
uponher-determuied  refusal,  he  had  never  calculated,  and  scarcely 
could  he  now  admit  the  reality.     Could  he  give  her  credit  for  ^Jie 


20 

pirofesscd  motive  of  her  rejection?  CdlOftd  KafgtaVchad  nothing 
in  himself  that  made  it  natural  for  him  to  suppose  passion  sacrificed 
to  reason  and  principle.  Had  he  then  deceived  himself, — had  she 
never  really  loved  him  ? — the  sug'gtjstioh  \^as  too  mortifying  to  be 
admitted.  Had  resentment  given  rise  to  her  determination  ?  She 
had  spoken  from  the  first  with  calmness, — at  last  with  tenderness. 
Was  all  this  but  a  sfcene  of  coquetry,  desigiled  to  enhance  her 
favours  ?  The  simple,  the  noble,  the  candid  Laura  gtiilty  of  cO*- 
quetry  ? — impossible !  While  these  thoughts  darted  -witli  confused 
rapidity  through  his  mind,  one  idea  alone  was  distinct  and  perma- 
nent— Laura  had  rejected  him.  This  thought  was  torture.  Strongs 
resentment  mingled  with  his  anguish ;  and  to  inflict,  on  the  \im<y- 
cent  cause  of  it,  pangs  answering  to  those  he  felt,  would  have  af- 
forded to  Hargrave  the  highest  gratification.  Though  his  passion 
for  Laura  was  the  most  ardent  of  which  he  was  capable,  its  effects, 
for  the  present,  more  resembled  those  of  the  bitterest  hatred.  That 
she  loved  him,  he  would  not  allow  liimself  to  doubt ;  and,  there- 
fore, he  concluded  that  neglect  would  inflict  the  surest,  as  well  as 
the  most  painful  wound.  Swearing  that  he  wo\dd  make  her  feel 
it  at  her  heart's  core,  he  left  the  cottage,  strode  to  the  village  inn^ 
siu'lily  ordered  his  horses,  and,  in  a  humour  compounded  of  re- 
venge, impatient  passion,  and  wounded  pride,  returned  to  his  quar- 
ters at .     His  scheme  of  revenge  had  all  the  success  that  such 

schemes  usually  have  or  deserve  ;  and  while,  for  one  whole  week, 
he  deigned  not,  by  visit  or  letter,  to  notice  his  mistress,  the  real 
suflering  which  he  inflicted,  did  not  exactly  fall  on  her  for  whom 
he  intended  the  pain. 


CHAPTER  ra. 

To  an  interview  which  he  presumed  Would  Be  as  delightful  ^s^ 
interesting.  Captain  Montreville  chose  to  give  no  interruption;  and 
therefore  he  had  walked  out  to  superintend  his  hay -making  :  But, 
after  staying  abroad  for  two  hours,  which  he  judged  to  be  a  rea- 
sonable length  for  a  tete-a-tete,  he  retui-ned,  and  was  a  little  sur- 
prised to  find  that  the  Colonel  Was  gone.  Though  he  entertained  not 
a  doubt  of  the  issue  of  the  conference,  he  had  some  curiosity  to 
know  the  particulars,  and  summoned  Laura  to  commui)icate  them. 

"  Well,  my  love,"  said  he,  as  the  conscious  Laura  shut  the  par- 
Vour  door,  **  is  Colonel  Hargrave  gone  ?*' 

«  Long  ago.  Sir." 

**  1  thought  he  would  have  waited  my  return." 

Laura  made  no  answer. 

"  When  are  we  to  see  him  agaip  ?" 

Laura  did  mot  know. 


21 

•'  Well,  well,"  said  CapUiu  Monlrevl'lc,  a  little  iir.putienUy, 
"  since  the  Colonel  is  g-one  without  talking  to  me,  1  must  just  he ai- 
from  you  what  it  is  you  have  both  determined  on,'* 

Laura  trembled  in  evefv  limb.  "  I  knew,'*  said  she,  xrithout 
venturing- to  lift  her  eye,  "that  you  would  never  srxrifice  your 
child  to  rank  or  fortune  ;  and  therefore  I  had  no  hesitation  in  re- 
fusinjj  Colonel  Har^ave." 

Captain  Montreville  started  back  with  astonishment, — "  Re- 
fused Colonel  Hargrave  ?"  cried  he. — "  Impossible — you  cannot  be 
in  earnest. 

Laura,  with  much  truth,  assured  him  that  she  never  in  her  life 
had  been  more  serious. 

[Captain  Montreville  was  thunderstruck.  Surprise  for  a  few 
moments  kept  him  silent.  At  last  recovering'  himself,—"  Why, 
Laura," said  he,  "what  objection  covdd  you  possibly  make  to  Har- 
grave  ? — he  is  young",  handsome,  accomplished,  and  hcis  shewn 
such  generosity  in  his  choice  of  you" — 

"Generosity!  Sir,"  repealed  Laur?. 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  generous  in  Colonel  Hargrave,  who  mii^ht  pretend 
to  the  first  woman  in  the  kingdom,  to  think  of  oifcring  to  share 
bis  fortune  and  his  rank  with  you,  who  have  neither.'* 

LaiU'a's  sentiments  on  this  subject  did  not  ex::iCtjy  coincide  with 
her  father's,  but  she  remained  silent  while  he  continued :  "  I 
think  I  have  a  right  to  hear  your  objections,  for  1  am  entirely  at  a 
loss  to  guess  them.  1  don't  indeed  know  a  fault  Hargrave  has» 
except  perhaps  a  few  gallantries  ;  which  most  girls  of  your  age 
think  a  very  pardonable  error." 

A  sickness,  as  of  death,  seized  Laura;  but  she  answered  steadi- 
ly, "  Indeed,  Sir,  the  Colonel's  views  are  so  diiierent  from  mine-^ 
his  dispositions  so  vciy  unlike — so  opposite,  that  nothing  but  un- 
happlness  could  possibly  resuat  from  such  an  union.  But,'*  added 
she, forcing  a  languid  smile,  "we  shi  11,  if  you  please,  discuss  all 
this  to-morrow ;  foi-,  indeed,  to-d:.y,  I  am  unable  to  diefend  m}  own 
cause  with  )ou.     1  have  been  indisposed  all  day." 

^Captain  Montieville  looked  at  Laura,  andy  in  the  alarm  which 
he*"  unusual  paleness  excited,  lost  all  sense  of  the  disiippointment 
she  had  just  caused  him.  He  ihitw  his  arm  tenderly  round  her — 
suppoiled  her  to  her  own  apartment — begged  siic  would  try  to 
rest, — ran  to  seek  a  cordial  for  his  darling ;  and  tl^en,  fearii^g  that 
llie  dread  of  his  displeasure  should  add  to  her  disorder,  hastened 
back  to  assure  her  that,  'hough  hec  happiness  was  his  dearest  con- 
cern, he  never  meajit  to  interfere  with  her  judgment  of  the  means 
by  which  it  was  to  be  promoled. 

Tears  of  affectionate  gratitude  burst  from  the  eyes  of  Laura. 
'<  My  dear  kind  father,"  she  cried,  "let  me  love— ki  me  please 
you — and  I  ask  no  other  eartldy  happiness." 

Captain  Monircviile  then  kn  her  to  rest;  and,  quite  exhausted 
with  illness,  fatigue,  and  sorrow,  she  slept  soundly  for  many  hours 

The  c..«pt-dn  speritmostof  the  eveniig  in  rinoinatii  g  on  tl.e  oc- 
.  rcncG  of  the  dav;  nor  did  his  medications  at  all  diixiinish  his 


22 

surprise  at  his  daughter's  unaccountablierejectlon  of  his  favourite. 
He  recollected  many  instances  in  which  iiethoughthe  had  perceiv- 
ed her  partiaUty  to  the  Colonel; — he  perplexed  himself  in  vain  to 
reconcile  them  with  her  present  behaviour-  He  was  compelled  at 
last  10  defer  his  conclusions  till  Laura  herself  sliould  solve  the 
difficulty.  The  subject  was  imleed,  so  vexatious  to  him,  that  he 
longed  to  have  liis  curiosity  satisfied,  in  order  finally  to  dismiss  the 
affair  from  his  mind. 

Laura  had  long"  been  accustomed,  when  assailed  by  any  adverse 
circumstances,  wiiether  more  trivial,  or  more  important^  to  seize 
the  first  opportunity  of  calmly  considei-hig-  how  far  she  had  her- 
self contributed  to  the  disaster;  and,  as  nothing-  is  more  hostile  to 
good  humour  than  an  ill-defined  feeUng  of  self-reproach,  the  habit 
was  no  less  useful  to  the  regulation  of  our  heroi!ie's  temper,  than 
to  her  improvement  in  the  rarer  virtues  of  prudence  and  candoup. 
Her  first  waking  hour,  except  that  which  was  uniformly  dedicated 
to  a  more  sacred  purpose,  siie  now  employed  in  strict  and  impar- 
tial self-examination.  She  endeavoured  to  call  to  mind  every  part 
of  her  behaviour  to  Colonel  Hargrave  lest  her  own  conduct  might 
have  seemed  to  countenance  his  presumption.  But  in  vain.  She 
could  not  recollect  a  word,  a  look,  even  a  thought,  that  could  have 
encouraged  his  profligacy.  *'  Yet.  why  should  I  wonder,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  if  he  expjected  that  temptation  might  seduce,  or  weak- 
ness betray  me,  s'mce  he  knew  me  Nibble,  and  of  the  power  by 
which  I  am  upheld  he  thought  not." 

Satisfied  of  the  purity  of  her  conduct,  she  next  proceeded  to 
examine  its  prudence :  but  here  she  found  little  reason  for  self- 
g-ratulation.  Her  conscience,  indeed,  completely  acquitted  her  of 
levity  or  forwardness,  but  its  charges  of  imprudence  she  could 
not  so  easily  parry.  Why  had  she  admitted  a  preference  for  a  man 
whose  moral  character  was  so  little  known  to  her  ?  Where  slept 
her  discretion,  while  she  suffered  that  prrference  to  strengthen 
into  passion  ?  Why  had  she  indulged  in  dreams  of  idejdperfectioii  ? 
Why  had  she  looked  for  consistent  virtue  in  a  breast  where  she  had 
not  ascertained  that  piety  resided  ?  Had  she  allowed  herself  time 
for  consideration,  would  she  have  forgotten  that  religion  was  the 
only  foundation  strong  enough  to  support  the  self-denying,  the 
purifying  virtues  ?  These  prudent  reflections  came,  in  part,  too 
late ;  for  to  love,  Laura  was  persuaded  she  must  henceforth  be  a 
stranger.  But  to  her  friendships,  she  conceived,  that  they  might 
be  applicable  ;  and  she  determined  to  make  them  useful  in  her  fu- 
ture intercourse  with  her  own  sex ,  to  whom,  perhaps,  they  may  be 
appUed  even  with  more  justice  than  to  the  otlier. 

The  mind  of  Laura  had  been  early  stored  with  just  and  rational  sen- 
timents. These  were  the  bullion — but  it  was  necessar}'  that  experi- 
ence should  give  the  stamp  that  was  to  make  them  current  in  the 
ordinary  business  of  Ufe.  Had  she  called  prudence  to  her  aid,  in  the 
first  stage  of  her  ae<|uaintance  with  the  insinuating  Hargrave,  what 
anguish  would  slie  not  have  spared  herself.  But  if  the  higher  wis- 
dom is  to  foresee  and  prevent  misfortime,  the  next  degree  is  Hk 


5\ 


ITiake  the  best  of  it  when  unavoidable  ;  and   Laura  resolved  that 
this  pra'ise  at  least  should  i>e  hers.     Fortified    by   this  resolutiofi, 
she  quitted  her  apartment,  busied  herself  in  her  domestic  affairs, 
met  her  father  almost  with  cheerfulness  ;  and,  when  he  renewed 
the  subject  of  their  last  conversation,  repeated,  with  such  compo- 
sure, her  conviction  of  the  dissimilarity  of  Hargrave's  dispositions 
to  her  own,  that  Captain  Montreville  began  to  believe  that  he  had  • 
been  mistaken  in  his  opinion  of  her  preference.     Still,  however,  he 
could  not  account  for  her  rejection  of  an  offer  so  unobjectionable  -, 
and  he  hinted  a  suspicion,  that  some  of  Hargrave's  gallantries  had 
beenrepeatedto her,  and  perhaps  with  exaggeration.     With  tremb- 
ling lips,  Laura  assured  hjm  she  had  never  heard  the  slightest  in- 
sinuation against  Colonel  Hargrave.     Though  Laura  had  little  of 
romance  in  her  composition,  her  father  now  began  to  imagine,  that 
she  allowed  herself  to  cherish  the  romantic  dream,  that  sympathy 
of  souls,  atid  exactly  concordant  tastes  and  propensities,  were  ne- 
cessary to  the  happiness  of  wedded  hfe.    But  Laura  calmly  declar- 
ed, that  her  tastes  were  not  inflexible  ;  and  that,  had  she  intended .. 
to  marrj',  she  should  have  found  it  an  easy  duty  to  conform  them 
to  those  of  her  husband ;  hut  that  the  thought  of  marriage   was 
shocking  to  her,  and  that  she  trusted  no    man  would  ever  again 
think  of  her  as  a  wife.     Montreville,  who  for   once  suspected   his 
daughter  of  a  little  affectation,  made  no  effort  to  combat  this  un- 
natural antipathy,  but  trusted  to  time  and  nature  for  its  cure. 

As  soon  as  her  father  left  her,  Laura,  determined  not  to  be  brave 
by  halves,  began  the  painful  task  of  destroying  every  relic  of  Har- 
grave's  presence.  She  banished  from  her  port-folio  the  designs 
he  had  made  for  her  drawings,  destroyed  the  music  from  which 
he  had  accompanied  her,  and  effaced  from  her  books  the  marks 
of  his  pencil.  She  had  amused  her  solitary  hours  fby  drawing,  in 
chalks,  a  portrait  of  features  indelibly  engraven  on  her  recollection, 
and  her  fortitude  failed  her  when  about  to  consign  it  to  the  flames.  " 
*'  No;"  she  exclaimed,  ♦'  lean  never  part  with  this.  This,  at  least, 
I  may  love  uureproved,"  and  she  pressed  it  in  agony  to  her  heart 
—inwardly  vowing  that  no  human  being  should  fill  its  place.  But 
such  thoughts  as  these  could  not  linger  in  the  reasonable  mind  of 
Laura.  The  next  moment  she  blushed  for  her  weakness ;  and, 
casting  away  its  last  treasure,  averted  her  eyes  till  the  flames  had 
consumed  it  to  ashes.  **  Now  all  is  over,"  she  cried,  as  she  threw 
herself  upon  a  chau- and  burst  into  tears.  But,  quickly  wiping 
them  away,  she  resolved  that  she  would  not  wilfully  bind  herself 
to  the  rack  of  recollection,  and  hastened  to  exert  herself  in  some 
of  her  ordinary  employments. 

Laura  was  aware  that  the  cottage,  where  every  walk,  every 
shrub,  every  flower  spoke  of  Hargrave,  was  a  scene  unlikely  to 
aid  her  purpose  of  forgetting  him ;  and,  therefore,  she  that  even- 
ing proposed  to  her  father  that^they  should  pay  their  long  pro-- 
mised  visit  to  Mrs.  Douglas.  He  readily  consented.  Their  jour- 
ney was  fixed  for  the  following  day,  and  Laura  occupied  herself 
•  Til  preparing  for  Uieir  departure,  though  with  feeling  ft*  different 


froiii  the  delight  with  which,  a  few  days  before^  she  V.-CV.U1  luv 
anticipated  a  meeting'  withhercarly  frienJ. 


CHAPTER  lY 

INIiis.  I)oL-GLAs  observed,  with  satisfaction,  the  improved  sta- 
lure  and  increasing'  gracefulness  of  her  young  favourite;  but  she 
remarked,  with  painful  interest,  tliat  the*  hectic  of  pleasure  which 
tinged  the  cheek  of  Laura,  at  their  meeting,  faded  fitst  to  the  hue 
of  aim  >3t  sickly  delicacy.  She  soon  noticed  that  an  expression,  as 
of  sudden  torture^  would  aometimcs  contract, .  for  a  moment,  the 
polished  forehead  of  Laura;  that  it  was  now  succeeded  by  the 
smothered  sigh,  the  compressed  lip,  the  hasty  motion  that  spoke 
strong  mental  effort,  now  subsided  into  the  languor  of  deep  uncon- 
qucred  melancholy.  Such  depression  Mrs.  Douglas  could  not  at- 
tribute to  the  loss  of  a  mother,  whose  treatment  furnished  more 
occasions  of  patience  than  of  gratitude ;  and  she  anxiou.sly  longed 
to  discover  its  real  cause.  But  it  was  soon  evident  that  this  was  a 
secret  which  I-aura  had  no  intention  to  disclose.  A  glance  from 
the  inquiring  eye  of  Mrs.  Douglas,  at  once  recalled  her  to  con- 
strained cheerfulness  ;  and  the  presence  of  Captain  IMontreville 
seemed  always  to  put  her  entirely  upon  her  guard.  AVhile  he  was 
in  the  room,  she  talked,  read  aloud,  or  played  with  the  children, 
as  if  determined  to  be  amused ;  but  as  soon  as  he  retired,  she  re- 
lapsed, like  one  wearied  with  effort,  into  languor  and  melancholy, 
till  recalled  to  herself  by  the  scrutinizing  looks  of  Mrs.  Douglas. — 
Even  in  iheir  most  private  conversations,  the  name  of  Ilargravc  ne- 
ver passed  her  lips.  Months  indeed,  had  elapsed  since  Laura  coxikl 
have  pronounced  that  name  without  palr.ful  emotion — to  utter  it 
now  w;is  become  almost  impossibL-.  She.  felt  that  she  had  no  right 
to  publish,  while  she  rejected,  his  addresses ;  and  she  felt  an  in- 
vincible repugnance  to  expo  >c  even  his  failings,  but  much  more 
his  vices,  to  the  censure  of  ilie  respectable  Mrs.  Douglas.  Soon 
after  she  first  saw  Hargravo,  she  had  written  to  her  friend  a  warm 
culogium  of  his  fine  person,  captivating  manners,  and  elegant  ac- 
complishments. Mrs.  Douglas,  in  reply,  had  desired  to  hear  more 
of  this  phoenix ;  but  before  Laura  again  found  leisure  to  write,  she 
was  no  longer  inclined  to  make  Hargrave  her  subject,  and  her 
friend  had  desisted  from  fruitless  inquiries.  Mrs.  Douglas  hud 
lately  had  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  herself  of  the  Coloncl*s 
attractions ;  and,  so  great  did  they  appear  to  her,  that  it  was  with 
exti-cnie  asto.ushm.ent  she  heard  of  his  late  disappointment  ftom 
Captain  Monticvillc,  who  did  not  feel  his  daughter's  delicacy  on 
tl^e  subject.  'I'liis  conimu.-iication  served  only  to  increase  her  per- 
plcxity  a^  to  the  cau*c  of  Laura';?  depression ;  yet*  she  tcU  licrrs^If 


*  25 


relieved  from  the  apprehension,  thai  hopeless  love  foi-  Ifargi-avc 
was  wastmi^thc  health  and  peace  of  her  dear  Laura:  Still,  liowever, 
she  continued  to  watch  that  expressive  countenance,  to  weigh  eve- 
ry word  that  might  tend  to  unfold  the  enigma.  In  vain  ; — Laura 
studiousJiy  avoided  all  approach  to  an  explanation.  Mrs-Douglas't, 
anxiety  now  increased  to  a  painful  extreme.  She  felt  how  neces- 
sary to  female  inexperience  is  the  advice  of  a  female, — how  indis- 
pensable to  feminine  sorrows  are  the  consolations  of  feminine  sym.- 
pathy ;  and  she  resolved  that  no  false  delicacy  should  withhold  her 
from  offering  such  relief  as  she  might  liave  power  to  bestow. 

One  morning  after  the  gentlemen  had  left  them  alone  together, 
Mrs.  Douglas,  meditating  on  the  best  means  of  introducing  the 
"  subject  she  had  so  much  at  heart,  had  fallen  into  a  long  silence  ; 
when,  looking  up,  she  perceived  that  Laura  liad  let  fall  her  v.ork, 
and  was  sitting  with  her -eyes  fixed,  and  her  arms  dropj^d,  in  the 
attitude  of  one  whose  thoughts  had  no  connection  with  present  ob- 
jects. At  the  heavy  sigh  with  which  Mrs.  Douglas  surveyed  her, 
she  started,  and  was  rousing  her  attention  to  some  indifferent  sub- 
ject, when  Mrs.  Douglas,  kindly  taking  her  hand,  said,  "  My  dear 
child,  whatever  may  be  necessary  with  othei-^s,  I  bes<iechyou  to  be 
under  no  constraint  with  mc.  I  am  far  from  wishing  to  intrude 
into  your  confidence,  but  do  not  add  the  pain  of  constraint  to  an- 
guish that  already  seems  so  oppressive. 

Large  tears  stole  from  under  Laura's  <lowncast  eyelids  ;  but  she 
spoke  not.  Mrs.  Douglas  continued — "  If  my  best  advice,  my 
most  affectionate  sympathy,  can  be  of  use  to  you,  I  need  net  say 
you  may  command  tliem." 

Laura  threw  herself  into  the  anns  of  her  friend,  and  for  some 
moments  sobbed  with  uncontrolled  emotion  ;  but  soon  composing 
herself,  she  replied:  "  If  advice  coidd  haveprofited,  if  consolation 
could  have  reached  me,  where  should  I  have  sought  them  unless 
fi«om  you,  respected  friend  of  my  youth; — but  the  warning  voice 
of  wisdom  comes  now  too  late,  and  even  your  sjmpathv  would  be 
bestowed  in  vain.'* 

"Heaven  forbid  that  my  dearest  l^aura  should  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  comfoi't.     That  is  the  lot  of  guilt  alone." 

«  I  am  grateful  to  Heaven,"  said  Laura,  «  that  I  have  been  less 
guilty  than  imprudent.  Bui,  my  best  friend,  let  us  quit  this  sub- 
ject. This  wretchedness  cannot,  shall  not  last.  Only  let  me  im- 
plore you  not  to  notice  it  to  my  father.  You  know  not  what  hor- 
rors might  be  the  consequence." 

Mrs.  Douglas  shook  her  head.  «  Ah  !  Laura,"  said  she,  "  that 
path  is  not  the  path  of  safety  in  which  you  would  elude  a  father's 
eye."  Laura's  glance  met  that  of  her'friend  ;  and  she  read  sus- 
picion there.  The  thought  was  so  painful  to  her,  t!iat  she  was  on 
the  point  of  disclosing  all ;  but  she  remembered  that  the  reasons 
which  had  at  first  determined  her  to  silence,  were  not  altered  bv 
any  one's  suspicions,  and  she  restrained  hersclfc  Colonel  Hargrav'e 
had  cruelly  wronged  and  insulted  her— she  oaglit  therefore  to  be 
douljly  cautious  how  she  injured  him.     Svmpathv  in  licr  case,  she 

C 


26 

i'-lt,  would  be  a  dang-crous  indulgence  ;  and,  above  id],  she  shrunk 
with  horror  from  exposing  her  lover,  or  his  aclions  to  detestation 
or  contempt.  "  Perhaps  the  time  may  come,"  said  she,  pursuing 
her  reflections  aloud,  '*  when  you  will  be  convinced  that  1  am  in- 
txapablc  of  any  cjundestine  purpose.  At  present  your  compassion 
might  be  a  treacherous  balm  to  me,  when  my  best  wisdom  must 
be  to  forget  tiiat  I  have  need  of  pity" 

Mrs.  Douglas  looked  on  the  open  candid  countenance  of  Laura, 
and  her  suspicions  vanished  in  a  moment ;  but  they  returned  when" 
her  young  friend  reiterated  her  intreaties  that  she  would  not  hint 
the  subject  to  her  father.  Laura  was,  however,  fortified  in  her  re- 
solutions of  concealment,  by  an  opinion  she  had  often  heard  Mrs. 
Douglas  express,  that  the  feelings  of  disappointed  love  should  by 
women  be  kept  inviolably  a  secret  She  was  decisively  giving  a 
new  turn  to  the  conversation,  when  it  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  gentlemen;  and  Mrs.  Douglas,  a  little  hurt  at  the 
steadiness  of  her  young  friend,  naore  than  half  determined  to  re- 
new the  subject  no  more. 

A  letter  lay  on  the  table,  which  the  post  had  brought  for  Cap- 
'ain  Montreville  ;  he  read  it  witli  visible  uneasiness  and  immedi- 
ately left  the  room.  Laura  perceived  his  emotion  ;  and,  ever  alive 
to  the  painful  subject  nearest  her  heart,  instantly  concluded  that  the 
letter  brought  a  confession  fi-om  Hargrave.  She  heard  her  father's 
disordered  steps  pacing  the  apartment  above,  and  earnestly' longed, 
yet  feared  to  join  him.  Anxiety  at  length  prevailed ;  and  she  timid- 
ly approached  the  door  of  Captain  INIontreville's  chamber.  She 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  lock;  paused  again,  with  failing  courage, 
find  was  about  to  retire,  when  her  father  opeived  the  door.  "  Come 
in,  my  love,**  said  he,  *' I  wish  to  speak  with  you."  Laura,  trem- 
bling, followed  him  into  the  room.  "  I  find,"  said  he,  "  we  must 
shorten  our  visit  to  our  kind  friends  here,  and  travel  homewardse 
I  must  prepare,**  continued  he,  and  he  sighed  heavily,  "  I  must 
prepare  for  a  much  longer  journey.'* 

Laura's  imagination  took  the  alarm ;  and,  forgetting  how  un- 
likely it  was  that  Captain  Montreville  should  di.sclose  such  a  reso- 
lution to  her,  she  thought  only  of  his  intending  to  prepare  for  a 
jourjiey  whence  there  is  no  return  ;  before  he  should  stake  his  life 
against  that  of  Hargrave.  She  had  not  power  to  speak ;  but,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  her  father's  arm,  she  cast  on  him  a  look  of  implor- 
ing agony.  "  Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  love,"  said  he  :  "I  shall  in 
a  few  days,  carry  your  commands  to  London ;  but  I  do  not  mean 
to  be  long  absent.** 

Laura's  heart  leaped  light.     "  To  London,  Sir  r"  said  she,  in  a  f 
tone  of  cheerful  inquiry. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  child ;  I  roust  go,  and  leave  you  alone  at  home- 
while  yet  1  have  a  home  to  shelter  you.     Had  you  resembled  any  , 
other  girlof  your  age,  I  shovdd  have  said  no  more  of  this — btH^f/ 
will  have  no  concealments  from  you.     Read  this  letter." 

It  was  from  Captain  Montreviile's  agent,  and  briefly  staled,  that 
tiiC  merchant  in  whose  hands  he  hadlatclv  vested  his  all,  ia  an  an- 


niiitv  on  his  daughter's  life,  was  dead  ;  and  iluit,  owing  to  sonic 
iuformalitv  in  the  deed,. the  heirs  refused  to  make  any  payment.— 
Havine  read  the  letter,  Laura  continued  for  some  nioments  to  muse 
on  its  contents,  with  her  eyes  vacantly  fixed  on  the  civil  expres- 
s-on of  concern  with  which  it  concluded.  "How  mcrciiul  it  is, 
•  uc  exclaimed,  "that  this  blow  fell  not  tUl  my  mother  was  inscu- 
.ible  of  the  stroke."  ,    ,.,   , 

«  For  rnyself,"  said  Captain  Mcntreville,  *'  1  think  I  could  have 
borne  it  well ;  but  this  was  the  little  independence  I  thought  I  had 
secured  for  vou,  dear  darling  of  my  heart ;  and  now'* The  fa- 
ther's lip  quivered,  and  his  eyes  filled  ;  but  he  turned  aside,  for  he 
eould  6e  tender — but  would  not  seem  so. 

«  Dearest  father,"  said  Laura,  "  think  not  of  me.  Could  you 
have  given  me  millions,  I  should  still  have  been  dependent  on  the 
care  of  Providence,  even  for  mv  daily  bread.  My  dependence  will 
now  only  be  a  little  more  perceptible.  But  perhaps,"  added  she, 
cheerfully,  '*  something  may  be  done  to  repuir  this  disaster.  War- 
ren's heirs  will  undoubtedly  rectify  this  mistake,  when  they  find  it 
has  been  merely  accidental.  At  all  events,  a  journey  to  London 
will  am\ise  you';  and  I  shall  manage  your  harvest  so  actively  in 
vour  absence." 

Captain  Montreville  had,  from  Laura's  infancy,  been  accustom- 
ed to  witness  instances  of  her  fortitude,  to  sefe  her  firm  under  un- 
merited and  merciless  chastisement,  and  patient  under  intense  bo- 
dily suffering — but  her  composure  on  this  occasion,  so  far  surpass- 
ed his  expectations,  that  he  was  inclined  to  attribute  it  less  to  for- 
titude  than  to  inconsideration.  "  How  light-hearted  is  youth,"— 
thought  he,  as  he  quitted  her.  "  This  poor  child  has  never  seen 
the  harsh  features  of  poverity,  but  when  distance  softened  their 
deformity,  and  she  now  beholds  lus  approach  without  alarm." — 
He  was  mistaken.  Laura  had  often  taken  a  near  survey  of  pover- 
ty.  She  had  entered  the  cabins  of  the  very  poor— seen  infancy 
squalid,  and  youth  spiritless — manhood  exhausted  by  toil,  and  age 
pining  without  comfort.  In  fancy  she  had  substituted  herself  in 
the  place  of  these  victims  of  want ;  felt  by  sympathy  their  varieties 
of  wretchedness ;  and  she  justly  considered  poverty  among  the 
heaviest  of  human  calamities.  But  slie  was  sensible  that  her  firm- 
ness might  support  her  father's  spirit.'?,  or  her  weakness  serve  to 
aggravate  his  distress  ;  and  she  wisely  pushed  aside  the  more  for- 
midable mischief,  which  she  could  not  surmount,  to  attend  to  the 
more  immediate  evil,  which  she  felt  it  in  her  power  to  alleviate. 

The  moment  she  was  alone,  Laura  fell  on  licr  knees :  "  Oh  ! 
Heavenly  Providence,"  she  cried,  *'  save,  if  it  be  thy  will,  my 
dear  father's  age  from  poverty,  though,  like  my  great  Master,  I 
should  not  have  where  to  lay  my  head."  She  continued  to  pray 
long  and  fervently,  for  spirits  to  cheer  her  father  under  his  misfor- 
tiBVfi ;  and  for  fortitude  to  endure  her  ov/n  peculiar  sorrow,  in 
her  estimation  so  much  more  bitter.  Having  implored  the  bless- 
uig  of  Heaven  on  her  exertions,  she  ne:it  began  to  practise  thera. 


28 

S)ie  wandered  out  to  court  the  exhilarating  hifluencc  of  the 
mountain  ah-;  and,  studiously  turning-  lier  attention  to  uU  that 
was  g-ay,  soug-ht  to  rouse  l\er  spirits  for  the  task,  she  had  assig-ned 
them.  She  was  so  successful,  that  she  was  that  evening  the  life  of 
the  little  friendly  ciixle.  She  talked,  sang,  and  recited — she  exer- 
ted all  the  wit  and  vivacity  of  which  she  was  mistress — she  em- 
ployed powers  of  humour  which  she  herself  had  scarcely  been 
tonscious  of  possessing.  Her  gaiety  soon  became  contagious— 
Scarcely  a  trace  appeared  of  tlie  anxious  fears  of  Mrs.  Douglas, 
or  the  parental  uneasiness  of  Captain  Montreville,  and  fewer  .still  of 
the  death-stroke  which  disappointed  confidence  had  carried  to  the 
peace  of  poor  Laura.  But,  retired  to  the  solitude  of  her  chamber, 
her  exhausted  spirits  found  relief  in  tears.  She  felt,  that  long  to 
tontinue  her  exertion  would  be  impossible;  and,  in  spite  of  reason, 
which  told  of  the  danger  of  solitude,  anticipated  v.ith  pleasure,  tlie 
moment  when  total  seclusion  should  leave  her  free  to  laidisguiscd. 
wretcliediiess. 

Luura  was  not  yet,  however,  destined  to  the  hopeless  task  of 
combating  misplaced  affection  in  entire  seclusion.     On  the  follow- 
ing morning  she  found  a  stranger  at  the  breakfast-table.  He  seem^- 
.  d  a  man  of  informaticn  and  accomplishments.     An  enthusiast  hi 
landscape,  he  was  come  to  prosecute  his  favourite   study  amidst 
Uie  piclarcsque  magnificence  of  Highland  scenery;  and  the  ap- 
pearance and  manners  of  a  gentleman,  furnished  him  with  a  suffi- 
cient introduction  to  Highland  hospitality.     Relieved,  by  his  pre- 
L-ence,  from  the  task  of  entertaining^,  Laura  scarcely  listened  to  the 
conversation,  till  the   stranger,  having  risen  from  table,   began 
to  examine  a  picture  which  occupied  a  distinguished  phaee  in  Mrs. 
Douglas's  p?.rlour.     It  was  the   work  of  Laura,  who  was  no  m.ean 
proficient.     She  had  early  discovered  what  is  called  a  genius  for. 
painting;  that  is  to  say,  she  had  exercised  much  of  her  native  in- 
veTition,    and   habitual   industry  on  the  art.     Captain  Montretille 
.vkied  to  his  personal  instructioJis,  every  flicility  which  it  was  in  his 
nowcr  to  bestow.     Even  wlien  he\;  performances  had  little  in  thcin 
•)f  wonderful  but  their  number,  her  acquaintance  pronounced  thera 
wonderful;  and  thev  obtained  the  more  useful  approbation  of  a 
Mcighbounng  nobleman,  who  invited  her  to  use,  as  copies,  any 
-.a-'t  of  his  excellent  collection.     Her  progi-ess  was  now,  indeed, 
znai-vellous  to  those  who  were  new  to  the  effects  of  unremitting  m- 
dustrv,  guided  by  models  of  exquisite  skill.     Having  long  and  se- 
dulously copied,  from  pieces  of  acknowledged  merit,  she  next  a^ 
■cnipted  an  original;  and  having,  with   great  care  composed,  and 
^vith  incredible  labour  finished  her  design,   she  dedicated  to  Mrs. 
i)ou-las  the  first  fruits  of  her  improved   talents,   m  the  pictxu-e 
which  the  stranger  was  now  contemplating.  Willing  that  heryoung 
;riend  should  reap  advantage  from  the  criticisms  of  a  judicious  ar- 
(IsS  Mrs.  Douglas  encouraged  him  to  speak  freely  of  the  beauties 
-.nd  defects  of  the  piece.     After  remarking  that  there  was  some 
ik'U  i\i  ihe  composition,  much  iet.rcst  in  the  principal  figure,  and 


id 

Aon3iderablo  freedom  in  ihelouch,  lie  ndded  ;  "If  tbf.s be.  as  Tsup- 
pose!  ihe  work  of  a  voun^  urtist,  I  shall  not  be  surprised  ihat  he 
one  dav  rise  both  to  fume  and  fortune.'*  ..•,,«•  i  «,^„.„ 

Ml-  ■  Doi'iclsis  was  about  to  direct  his  praise  to  its  nghttul  ownei . 
but  Laura  silenced  her  by  alook.  The  stranger's  last  expression 
h-id  excited  ai\  interest  which  no  other  ciMrthly  subject  could  have 
awakened.  Her  labours  might,  it  appeared,  relieve  the  wants  o? 
increase  the  comforts  of  her  father's  age ;  and,  with  a  tace  tha. 
fflowed  with  enthusiasm,  and  eyes  that  sparkled  with  re- 
novated hope,  she  eagerly  advanced  to  question  tiie  crit:c  as  to  the 
value  of  hv-r  work.  In  replv,  he  named  a  price  so  far  exceeding- 
her  expectation?,  that  her  resolution  was  formed  in  a  moment  — 
She  would  accompany  her  father  to  London,  and  there  try  what 
pecuniary  advantage  was  to  be  derived  from  her  talent.  On  a 
scheme  ivhich  was  to  repair  all  her  father's  losses,  prudence  had 
not  time  to  pause;  and,  feeling  company  rather  a  lestraint  on  her 
pleasure,  Laura  ran  to  her  apartment,  rather  to  tnjoy  than  to  re- 
consider her  plan.  Having  spent  some  time  in  delighted  anticipa- 
tion of  the  pleasure  which  her  father  would  take  in  the  new  team 
and  threshing-mill  with  which  she  would  adorn  his  farm ;  and  the 
comfort  he  would  enjoy  in,  the  new  books  and  easy  sofa  with  which 
her  labours  would  furnish  his  library,  she  recollected  a  hundred 
questions  that  she  wished  to  ask  the  stranger,  concerning  the  best 
means  of  disposing  of  her  future  productions,  j.nd  she  ran  down 
stairs  to  I'enew  the  conversation— but  the  parloiu-  was  empty,  the 
stranger  was  gone.  No  matter.  No  iritle  could  at  this  moment 
have  discomposed  Laiu-a ;  and,  with, steps  as  light  as  a  heart  from 
which,  for  a  time,  all  selfish  griefs  were  ban.shed,  she  crossed  the 
little  lawn  in  search  of  her  father. 

The  moment  she  overtoojc  liim,  locking  her  arm  in  his,  and 
'ooking  smilingly  up  in  his  face,  she  began  so  urgent  axt  entreaty 
o  he  admitted  as  the  companion  of  his  journey,  that  Captain  Mon- 
leville,  witii  some  curiosity,  inquired  wliat  had  excited  in  her  this 
-adden  inclination  to  travel?  Laura  blushed  and  hesitated;  for 
though  her  plan  had,  in  her  own  opinion,  all  the  charms  which  wc 
usually  attribute  to  the  new-born  children  cf  our  fancy,  she  felt 
that  an  air  of  more  prudence  and  forethought  might  be  requisite 
to  render  it  equally  attractive  in  the  eyes  of  Captain  Montrev  lie. 
She  exerted,  however,  all  the  rhetoric  she  could  at  that  moment 
command,  to  give  her  scheme  a  plausible  appearance.  Witli  res- 
pect to  herself,  she  was  entirely  successful;  and  she  ventured  to 
cast  a  look  of  tiiumphant  appeal  on  her  father.  Captain  Montre- 
ville,  unwilling-  to  refuse  the  request  of  liis  darling-,  remained  si- 
ent;  but  kt  the  detail  of  her  phin,  he  shook  his  hc:.d.  Now,  to 
a  projector  of  eighteen,  a  shake  of  the  head  is,  of  all  gestures, 
the  most  offensive;  -and  the  smile  which  usually  accompanies  it, 
miserably  perverts  the  oOice  of  a  smile.  Tears,  half  of  sorrow, 
half  of  vexation,  forced  their  way  to  the  eyes  d  Laura;  and  she 
walked  silently  on,  without  courage  to  renew  the  attack,  till  they 
vcr?  joingd  by  Mrs.  JPouglas.    Disconcerted  by  her  ill  success 


with  licr  lather,  Laura  felt  little  inclination  to  subject  her  scheme 
to  the  ttirnnudvcrsidns  of  her  friend;  bat  Captain 'Montreville,  ex- 
p^niTig- . -in  auxiliary, by  %vhose  aidlie  mig-ht  conquer  the  weakness 
otyiekling- without  conviction,  called  upon  iMrs  Douglas,  in  a  man- 
ner which  shev.cd  him  secure  of  her  reph%  to  give  lier  opinion  of 
Laura's  proposal.  Mrs.  Doug-las,  v.'ho  had  heard,  with  a  degree 
of  horror,  of  the  intention  to  consign  Laura  to  solitude  in  her  pre- 
sent state  of  snppresscd  dejection,  and  who  considered  new  scenes 
and  nevr  interests  as  indispensable  to  her  restoration,  interpreting- 
the  asking-  looks  of  the  fair  petitioner,  surprised  Captain  Montre- 
ville  by  a  decided  verdict  in  her  favour.  Rapturously  tlianking-  her 
advocate,  Laura  Uow  renewed  her  entreaties  with  such  warmth, 
that  her  father,  not  possessed  of  that  facility  in  refusing  which  results 
irom  practice,  gave  a  half-reluctant  acquiescence.  The  delight 
which  his  consent  conveyed  to  Laura,  which  sparkled  in  her  ex- 
pressive feUtures,  and  animated  her  artless  gestures,  converted  his 
half-extorted  assent  into  cordial  concurrence ;  for  to  the  defects  of 
any  scheme  that  gave  her  pleasure,  he  was  habitually  blind. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  captain  IMontreviUe  announced 
^h:.;,  in  order  to  give  his  daughter  time  to  prepare  for  her  jouriiey. 
It  V  ould  }/€  necessary  for  them  to  retiur.  to  Glenalbert  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning. 

While  Mrs.  Douglas  was  assisting  Laura  to  pack  up  her  little 
wardrobe,  she  attempted  to  break  her  guarded  silence  on  the 
subject  of  Hargrave,  by  saying,  "  I  doul)t  this  same  journey  of 
•ours  will  prevent  Colonel  Hargrave  from  trying  the  elfects  of  per- 
severance, which  I  used  to  think  the  most  imfallible  resort  in  love, 
ns  well  as  in  more  seriotis  vmdcrtakinga  .*'  Laura  began  a  most 
Oil] gent  search  for  something  upon  the  carpet.  "  Poor  Hargrave," 
Mrs.  Douglas  resumed,  ••'  he  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine.  I  wish  he 
had  beeii  more  successful."  Laura  continued  uidustriously  cram- 
ming a  bandbox. .  "  All  tliesc  goAViis  Aud  petticoats  will  crush  your 
new  bonntt  to  pieces,  my  dear.'*  Laura  suddenly  desisted  from 
her  employment,  rose,  and  turning  full  towards  Mrs. Douglas,  said 
— "  It  is  ur.kind,  it  is  cruel,  thus  to  urge  me,  when  you  know  that 
duty  more  thnn  inclination  keeps  me  silent.  *'  Pardon  me  my  dear 
J^aura,"  said  Mrs.  Douglas,  "  1  have  no  wish  to  persecute  you;  but 
you  know  1  v;as  ignorant  that  Colonel  Hargrave  was  our  interdicted 
vabject." 

She  then  entered  on  another  topic  ;  and  Laura,  vexed  at  the  par- 
tial disclosure  she  had  inadvertently  ma'le,  uneasy  at  being  the  ob- 
ject of  constant  scrutiny,  and  hurt  at  being  obliged  to  thwart  the 
habitual  openness  of  her  temper,  felt  less  sorrow  than  relieved  as  she 
sprung  into  the  carriage  that  was  to  convey  her  to  Glenalbert.^  So 
true  is  it,  that  concealment  is  the  bane  of  friendship. 

Other  interests  too,  quickened  her  desire  to  return  home.  She 
longed,  wiih  a  feeling  which  could  not  be  called  hope,  though  it  far 
exceeded  curiosity,  to  know  whether  Hargrave  had  called  or  writ- 
ten during  her  absence  ;  and  the  moment  the  chaise  stopped,  she 
liew  to  Lhe table  Mhcig  the  letters  were  deposited  to  wait  their  K- 


-   'i-  Si..-      ■     " 

lam.  There  were  none  fer  her.  She  interrupted  Nanny's  expres- 
sion of  joy  at  the  sight  of  her  mistress,  by  asking  >\ho  had  called 
wliile  they  were  from  home.  "  Nobody  but  Miss  Willis. '  Laura's 
eyes  filled  witli  teai's  of  bitterness.  "I  am  easily  rehnq  ished," 
thought  she — "  :but  it  is  better  that  it  should  be  so  ;"  and  she  dash- 
ed away  the  drops  us  they  rose. 

She  would  fain'  have  vented  her  feelings  in  tlie  solitude  of  her 
chamber ;  but  this  was  her  father  s  first  return  to  a  widowed  home, 
and  she  would  not  leave  him  to  its  loneliness.  She  entered  tl.e  par- 
lour. Captain Monti'eville  was  already  there;  and  cheerfully  wel- 
coming liim  home,  she  shook  up  the  cushion  of  an  elbow-chair  by  the 
fire-side,  and  invited  him  to  sit.  '-  No  lore,"  said  he,  gently  com- 
pelling her,  "  do  you  take  that  seat ;  it  was  your  mother's.'*  Laura 
saw  his  lip  quiver,  and,  suppressing  the  sob  that  swelled  her  bosom, 
she  tenderly  withdrew  him  from  the  room,  led  him  to  the  garden, 
invited  his  attention  to  her  ncw-biown  carnations,  and  giaduully 
diverted  his  regard  to  such  cheerful  objects,  that,  had  Capt.  n 
^lontreville  examined  vdi3it  was  passing  in  his  own  mind,  he  must 
have  confessed  that  he  felt  the  loss  of  Liidy  Harriet  less  us  a  com- 
panion than  an  antagonist.  She  was  more  a  customary  something 
which  it  was  unpleasant  to  miss  from  its  place,  than  area!  want  which 
no  substitute  could  supply.  Laura's  conversation,  on  the  contra- 
ry, amusing  without  ettort,  ingenious  \v'ithout  constraint,  and  ra- 
tional without  stifthess,  furnished  to  her  father  a  real  and  constant 
source  of  enjoyment ;  because,  wholly  exempt  from  all  desire  to 
shine,  she  had  leisure  to  direct  to  the  more  practicable  art  of  pleas- 
ing, tliose  efforts  by  which  so  many  Qthcrs  Miinlv  attempt  to  daz- 
zle. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  three  following  days  Laura  emplo)-ed  in  making  arrange- 
liicnts  for  her  journey.  Desrirous  to  enliven  the  solitude  in  which 
she  was  about  to  leave  her  only  attendant,  she  consigned  the  care 
of  the  cottage,  during  her  absence,  to  the  girl's  mother,  Avho  was 
likewise  her  own  nui-se  ;  and  cautious  of  leaving  to  the  tempta- 
tions of  idleness,  one  for  whose  conduct  she  felt  herself  in  some 
sort  accountable,  she  allotted  to  Nanny  the  task  of  making  winter 
clothing  for  some  of  the  poorest  inhabitants  of  Glenalbert ;  a  task 
which  her  journey  prevented  her  from  executing  herself.  Nor 
were  the  materials  of  this  little  charity  substracted  from  her  fa- 
ther's scanty  income,  but  deducted  from  comforts  exclusively  her 
own. 

Though  in  the  bustle  of  preparation,  scarcely  a  moment  remain- 
ed unoccupied,  Laura  could  not  always  forbe'ar  from  starting  at 
the  sound  of  the  knocker,  or  following  with  her  eyes  the  form  of  a 
horseman  winding  through  the  trees.  In  vahi  she  looked—in  v;  in 
she  listened.    The  expected  stranger  came  not— tlic  expected 


voice  was  unlieard.  She  tried  to  rejoice  at  the  deseition  :  «« I  am 
g-lad  of  it,''  she  would  say  to  herself,  while  bitter  tears  were  burst- 
ing from  her  eyes  She  often  reproached  herself  with  the  severi- 
ty of  her  lanci^uage  at  her  last  interview  v/ith  Hurj^rave.  She  ask- 
ed herself  what  ritjht  she  had  to  embitter  disappointment  by  un- 
kindncss,  or  to  avcng-e  msult  by  disdain.  Her  behaviour  appeared 
to  her,  in  the  retrospect,  ung-entle,  unfemhiine^  unchristian.  Yet 
she  did  not  for  a  moment  repent  her  rejection,  nor  waver  for  a  mo- 
ment in  her  resolution  to  adhere  to  it.  Her  soul  sickened  at  the 
thought,  that  she  had  been  tlie  object  of  lice?itious  passion  mere- 
ly ;  and  she  loathed  to  look  upon  her  own  lovely  form,  while  she 
thought  that  it  had  seduced  the  senses,  but  failed  to  touch  the 
soul  of  Hargrave. 

Amidst  these  employments  and  feelings  the  week  had  closed  ; 
and  the  Sabbath  evening  was  the  last  which  Laura  was  to  spend 
at  Gleualbert.  That  evening  had  long  been  her  chosen  season  of 
meditation,  the  village  chiirch-yard  the  scene  where  she  loved  to 
"  go  forth  to  meditate."  The  way  which  led  to  it,  and  to  it  alone, 
was  a  shady  green  lane,  gay  with  veronica  and  hare -bell,  undefa- 
ced  by  wheels,  but  marked  in  the  middle  with  one  distinct  track ; 
and  impressed  towards  the  sides  witli  several  straggling  half- 
formed  foot-paths.  The  church  itself  stood  detached  from  the  vil- 
lage,  on  a  little  knoll,  on  the  west  side  of  which  the  burial-ground 
sloped  towards  the  woody  bank  that  bounded  a  brawling  moun- 
tain stream.  Thitlier  Laura  stole,  when  the  svm,  which  had  been 
liid  by  the  rugged  hill,  again  rolling  forth  from  behind  the  preci- 
pitous ascent,  poured  through  the  long  dale  his  rays  upon  this 
rustic  cemetary ;  the  only  spot  m  the  valley  sufficiently  elevated 
to  ratch  his  parting  beam. 

"  How  long,  how  deep  is  the  shadow — how  glorious  in  bright- 
ness the  reverse,"  said  she,  as  she  seated  herself  under  the  shade 
of  the  newly  raised  grave-stone  that  marked  the  place  of  her  mo- 
ther's rest;  and  turning  her  mind's  eye  from  what  seemed  a  world 
of  darkness,  she  raised  it  to  scenes  of  everlasting  light.  Her  fan- 
cv,  as.  it  soai'ed  to  regions  of  bliss  without  alloy,  k)oi:ed  back  with 
something  like  disgust  on  the  labours  that  were  to  prepai-e  her 
for  their  enjoyment,  and  a  feeling  almost  of  disappointn\ent  and 
impatience  accompanied  the  recollection,  that  her  pilgrimage  was 
to  all  appearance  only  beginning.  Bvit  she  checked  the  feeling  as 
it  rose,  and,  in  penitence  and  resignation,  raisedhcr  eyes  to  heaven. 
They  rested  as  tliey  fell  upon  a  stone  marked  v  ith  the  name  and 
vears  of  one  who  died  in  early  youth.  Laura  remembered  her 
well— she  was  the  beauty  of  Glcnalbert;  but  her  lover  left  her  for 
a  nchcr  bride,  aiul  her  proud  spirit  sunk  beneath  the  stroke.  The 
village  artist  had  depicted  her  want  of  resignation  in  a  rude  sculp- 
ture of  the  prophet's  lamentation  over  his  withered  gourtl.  •♦  My 
gourd,  too.  Is  v/ithered,"  said  Laura.  "Do- 1  well  to  be  ang«y 
even  \mto  death  ?  Will  the  giver  of  all  good  leave  me  even  here 
without  comfort  ?  Shall  I  refuse  to  find  pleasure  in  any  duties 
but  3WcU  as  arc  of  my  owti  sckctiou  ?    13ecavise  the  g^ratiticationot 


one  passion — one  misplaced  passion,  is  refused,  has  this  world  no 
more  to  ottcv'  this  fair  world,  which  its  great  Creator  has  stamp- 
ed with  his  power,  and  stored  by  his  bounty,  and  ennobled  by  mak- 
ing- it  tlie  temple  of  his  worshippers,  tlic  avenue  to  heaven  1  Shall 
I  find  no  balm  in  the  consolations  of  friendship,  the  endearments  of 
parental  love — no  joy  in  the  sweets  of  benevolence,  the  stores  of 
knowledge,  the  mu'acles  of  grace!  Oh!  may  1  ever  fearlessly 
confide  in  the  fatherly  care,  that  snatched  me  from  the  precipice 
from  which  my  rash  confidence  was  about  to  plunge  me  to  my  ruin 
— that  opened  my  eyes  on  my  danger  ere  retreat  was  impossible.'* 

The  reflections  of  Laui-a  were  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  some 
-one  springing  over  tlie  fence ;  and,  tlie  next  moment,  Ilargrave 
was  at  her  side.  Laura  uttered  neither  shriek  nor  exclamation— but 
she  turned;  and,  with  steps  as  precipitate  as  would  bear  the  name 
of  walking,  proceeded  tov/ards  the  gate.  Hargrave  followed  her. 
"  Ami  indeed  so  happy  as  to  find  you  alone?"  said  he.  Laura 
replied  not,  by  word  or  look.  "  Suffer  me  to  detain  you  for  a 
few  momenta."  Laura  rather  quickened  her  pace.  "  Will  you 
not  speak  to  me  Miss  Monti-eville  T'  said  Hargrave,  in  a  tone  of 
tender  repi-oaci!.  Laura  continued  to  advance.  "  Stay  but  one 
moment,"  fiaid  he,  in  a  voice  of  supplication.  Laura  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  g^te.  Hargrave's  patience  was  exhausted.  *' By  heaven 
you  shall  hear  me  !"  he  cried,  and,  throwing  his  arm  round  her, 
compelled  her  to  be  seated  on  the  stone  bench  at  the  gate.  Laura 
coldly  withdrew  herself.  "  By  what  right.  Sir,"  said  she,  "  i}^o^ 
you  presume  to  detain  me  ?"  "  By  the  right  of  wretchedness — of 
misery  not  to  be  endured.  Since  I  last  saw  you,  1  have  never 
known  rest  or  peace.  Surely,  Laura,  you  are  now  sufficiently 
avenged — surely  your  stubborn  pride  may  now  condescend  to  hear 
nie.'' — "  Well,  Sir,*'  said  Laura,  without  attempting  to  depart ; 
"what  are  your  commands  >'*  ♦*  Oh,  Laura,  I  cannot  bear  your 
displeasure — it  makes  me  supremely  miserable.  If  you  have  any 
pity,  grant  me  your  forgiveness.''  "  If  my  forgiveness  is  of  any 
value  to  you,  I  give  it  you,  I  ti'ust  like  a  Cliristian — from  the  heart. 
Now,  then,  suffer  me  to  go." 

"  What — think  you  it  is  the  frozen  forgiveness  of  duty  that  wIH 
content  me  ?  Torn,  as  I  am,  by  every  passion  that  can  drive  man 
to  frenzy,  think  you  that  I  will  accept — that  I  will  endure  this  heart- 
less, scornful  pardon?  Laura,  you  loved  me  once.  I  have  doated 
on  you— pined  for  you — and  passion— passion  only — ^will  I  accept, 
or  bear  from  you.'' 

Laura  shrunk  trembling  from  his  violence,  "  Colonel  Hargrave/* 
said  she,  "  if  you  do  not  restrain  this  vehemence,  I  must,  I  will  be 
gone.  I  would  fain  spare  you  unnecessary'  pain ;  but  while  you  thus 
agitate  yourself,  my  stay  is  useless  to  you,  and  to  me  most  distres- 
sing." «  Say,  then,  that  you  accept  my  vows — that,  hopeless  oi 
happiness  but  with  me,  you  bind  yourself  to  me  alone,  and  for  ever. 
Speak,  heavenly  creature,  and  bless  me  beyond  the  fairest  dreams 
-  hope." 

■J  Colonel  Hargrave,'*  said  Laura,  "you  have  my  forgiveness, 


34 

My— -what  shall  I  say.--my  esteem  you  have  cast  from  you— -my 
best  wishes  for  your  happiness  shall  ever  be  yours — more  I  cannot 
^ve.  In  pity  to  yourself,  then— in  pity  to  me— renounce  one  who 
never  can  be  j^ours." 

Harg-ravc's  eyes  flashed  fire,  while  his  countenance  faded  to 
ghastly  paleness.  ♦•  Yes  ;"  he  exclaimed,  cold,  pitiless,  insensible 
woman— yes  I  renounce  you.  In  the  haunts  of  riot,  in  the  roar  of 
intcmperence,  will  I  forget  that  form,  that  voice— and,  when  I  am 


com— amidst  the  attractions  of  others,  you  will  forget  me. 

«  For-^'-et  you !  Never.  While  I  have  life,  I  will  follow  vou— sup- 
plicate—persecute  you.— Mine  you  shall  be,  though  infamy  and 
death  ensue.  Dare  not,"  said  he  grasping  her  arm,—"  dare  not  to 
seek  the  protection  of  anotlier. — Dare  but  to  give  him  one  smile, 
and  his  life  shall  be  the  forfeit." 

"  Alas !  Alas  !"  cried  Laura,  v^ringing  her  hands  in  anguish, 
*'  this  is  real  fi-enzy.  Compose  yourself,^  1  implore  you— there  is 
no  other — there  never  can  be." — 

Her  tears  recalled  Hargrave  to  something  like  composure, 
**  Dearest  Laura,"  said  he,  "  1  wish  to  soften — I  only  terrify  you. 
Fear  not,  beloved  of  my  soul — speak  to  me  without  alarm.  '  I  will 
hear  you,  if  it  be  possible,  with  calmness — but  say  not,  oh !  say 
Bot,  that  you  reject  me  I"  Laura  averted  her  face.  ♦*  Wl\y  prolong" 
this  distressing  interview  ?"  said  she, — "  You  have  heard  my  deter- 
mination.    I  know  that  it  is  right,  and  I  cannot  relinquish  it." 

The  triumph  of  self-conquest  gave  firmness  to  her  voice;  and 
Hargrave,  dx'iven  ;iga;n  from  composure  by  her  self-command, 
sprang  from  her  side.  "  It  is  well,  Madam,'*  he  cried:  *'  triumph 
in  the  destruction  of  my  peace ;  but  think  not  I  will  so  tamely  re- 
sign you.  No;  by  Heaven.  I  will  go  this  moment  to  your  father 
—I  will  tell  him  my  gffence  ;  and  ask  if  he  thinks  it  deserves  such 
punishment.     I.^t  hiiT\  take  my  life — I  abhor  it." 

"  Is  your  promise,  tlien,  of  such  small  avail  ?"  said  Laura, 
sternly. 

*'  Shall  a  promise  bind  me  to  a  life  of  wretchedness  ?  Shall  I 
regard  the  feelings  of  one  who  takes  an  inliuman  pleasure  in  my 
sxiflfcrings  r*'  At  tliis  moment  Laura's  eyes  fell  on  her  father,  who 
was  entering  the  little  avenue.  Hargrave's  glance  followed  hers, 
and  he  prepared  to  join  Captain  Montreville.  In  an  agony  of  ter- 
ror, Laura  grasped  his  arm.  "  Spare  me,  spare  me,"  slie  said, 
*'and  do  with  me  what  you  will'.'"  Captain  Montreville  saw  that 
the  .Avalk  was  occupied ;  he  tm-ned  from  it,  and  Laura  had  again 
time  to  breathe.  **  Say,  then,"  said  Hargrave,  softened  by  her  emo- 
tion,— "  say"  that,  when  years  of  penitence  have  atoned  my  offence, 
you  will  yet  be  mine,"  Laura  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
••  Let  me  not  hear  you — let  me  not  look  upon  you,"  said  Laura  ;— 
*'  leave  me  to  think,  if  it  be  possible," — and  slie  poured  a  silent 
prayer  to  heaven  for  help  in  this  her  sorest  trial.    The  effort  com- 


35 

posed  her,  and  the  Ttiujesiy  of  virtue  gave  dignity  to  her  form,  and 
firmness  to  her  voice,  v/hile  she  said,—"  My  father's  life  is  in  the 
hands  of  Providence— it  will  still  be  so,  wl\en  I  have  repeated  to 
yoti,  that  I  dare  not  trust  to  principles  such  as  yours  the  guardian- 
ship of  this  the  infancy  of  my  being.  I  dare  not  incur  certain  guilt 
to  escape  contingent  evil.  I  cannot  make  you  the  companion  of  this 
uncertain  life,  while  your  conduct  is  such,  as  to  make  our  eternal 
separation  the  object  of  my  dreadful  hope." 

Hargravc  had  trusted  that  the  tenderness  of  Laura  would  se- 
duce, or  his  ardour  overpower  her  firmness  ;  but  he  reiid  the  ex- 
pression of  her  pale  determined  countenance,  and  felt  assured  tliat 
she  was  lost  to  him  for  ever.  Convinced  that  all  appeal  to  her  feel- 
ings  would  be  hopeless,  he  would  deign  to  make  none ;  but,  in  a 
voice  made  almost  inarticulate  by  the  struggle  of  pride  and  an- 
guish, he  said, ♦'  Miss  Montreville,  your  father's  hfe  is  safe  from 

me— J  Will  not  lift  my  hand  against  it.'  That  he  should  take  uiine 
is  of  small  importance,  either  to  you  or  myself.  A  violent  death," 
continued  he,  his  pale  lip  quivering  with  a  smile  of  bitterness,— 
*'  may  perhaps  procure  me  ypui  tardy  pity." 

From  the  storm  of  passion,  Laura  had  shrunk  with  terror  and 
dismay  ;  but  the  voice  of  suppressed  anguish  struck  her  to  tlic 
soul.  "  Oh  !  Hargrave,  she  cried,  with  tears  no  longer  to  be  re- 
strained, "  you  have  my  tenderest  pity — would  to  Heaven  that  the 
purity  of  your  future  life  would  restore  me  to  the  happiness  of  es- 
teeming you!"     ' 

Laura's  tenderness  revived,  in  a  moment,  the  hopes  of  Ilai-grave. 
"  Angel  of  sweetness,"  he  exclaimed,  "m.ould  me  to  your  will — 
say  that,  when  purified  by  years  of  repentance,  you  will  again 
bless  me  with  your  love ;  and  no  exertion  will  be  too  severe — no 
virtue  too  arduous." 

"No;  this  I  dare  not  promise;  let  a  higher  motive  influence 
jou ;  for  it  is  not  merely  the  conduct— it  is  the  heart  that  must 
liave  changed,  ere  I  durst  expose  my  feeble  virtue  to  the  trial  of 
your  example— your  authority  ;  ere  I  durst  make  it  my  duty  to 
shut  my  eyes  against  your  faults,  or  to  see  them  with  the  indul- 
gence of  love  " 

"Dearest  Lam-a,  one  word  from  you  will  lure  me  back  to  the 
path  of  virtue — ^will  you  Wilfully  destroy  even  the  wish  to  return . 
If  for  a  year— tor  two  years— my  conduct  should  bear  the  strictest 
scrutiny — wdl  you  not  except  this  as  a  proof  that  my  heart  is 
changed — changed  in  every  thing  but  its  love  for  you — will  you 
not  then  receive  me  ?'* 

Laura  had  resisted  entreaty— had  withstood  alarm— had  con- 
quered strong  aftcction  ;  but  the  hope  of  rousing  Ilargrave  to^he 
views,  the  pursuits,  the  habits  of  a  christian,  betrayed  her  caution, 
and  gladdened  her  heart  to  rapture.  "  If  for  two  years,"  said  she, 
her  youthful  countenance  brightening  with  delight,  *•  your  con- 
duct is  such  as  you  describe— if  it  will  bear  the  inspection  of  the 
wise,  of  the  sober-minded,  of  the  pious,— as  my  father's  fricr^d,  a^ 
rfty  own  friend,  wJU  I  welcome  you." 


Wi-^/^ 


36 


Thus  suddenly  raised  from  despair,  HaTj^avc  seemed  at  tJie 
.s\immit  of  felicity.  Once  admitted  as  her  **  father's  friend,  as  her 
own,*'  he  was  secure  of  the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes.  The 
time  that  must  first  elapse,  appeared  to  him  but  a  moment ;  and 

the  labours  of  duty  required  of  him  seemed  a  smiling-  dream. 

Love  and  joy  animated  every  feature  of  his  fine  countenance  ;  he 
threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Laura,  and  rapturously  blessed  her  for 
her  condescension.  His  ecstacies  first  made  her  sensible  of  the 
-extent  of  her  concession ;  and  she  feared  that  she  had  gone  too  far. 
But  with  her,  a  promise,  however  inadvertent,  was  a  sacreA  thing, 
which  she  would  neither  qualify-  nor  retract.  She  contented  herself, 
therefore,  with  merely  repeating  thetemis  of  it,  emphatically  guar- 
ding the  conditions.  Desirous  now  to  have  leisure  for  reflection, 
she  reminded  him  that  the  lateness  of  the  hour  made  it  fit.that  he 
sliould  depart ;  and,  uiwardly  persuaded  that  she  would  not  long 
cbdiu'ately  refuse  him  another  interview,  he  obeyed  without  much 
opposition. 


CHAPTER  \l. 

The  lovers  were  no  sooner  separated,  than  Hargrave  began  to 
repent  that  he  had  not  mor«  distinctly  ascertained  the  kind  and 
manner  of  the  intercourse  which  he  was  to  hold  with  his  mistress 
during  the  term  of  Jiis  probation  ;  and  though  he  had  little  fear  that 
she  would  be  very  rigid,  he  considered  this  as  a  point  of  such  im- 
portance,  that  he  resolved  not  to  quit  Glenalbert  without  having  the 
matter  settled  to  his  satisfaction.  For  this  reason  he  condescended 
to  accept  the  accommodations  of  the  httle  straw-roofed  cottage,  by 
courtesy  called  the  Inn,  where  he  had  already  left  his  horse ;  and 
thither  he  retired  accordingly,  not  without  some  natiorial  misgivings 
of  raind  on  the  subject  of  Scottish  nastiness  and  its  consequences. 
His  apartment,  however,  though  small,  was  decent,  liis  bed  was 
clean,  his  sleep  refi*eshing,  and  his  dreams  pleasant;  nor  was  it  tiU 
a  late  hour  the  following  morning,  that  he  rose  to  the  homely  com- 
fort, and  clumsy  abundance  o.f  a  Highland  breakfast.  As  soon  as  he 
had  finished  his  repast,  he  walked  towards  Montreville's  cottage, 
ostensibly  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Captain,  bui,  in  reality,  with 
the  hope  of  obtaining  a  private  interview  with  Laura.  He  entered 
tlae  garden,  where  he  expected  to  find  Captain  Montreville.  It  was 
empty.  He  approached  th€  house  The  shutters  were  barred  He 
knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  the  old  woman ;  and,  on 
inquiring  for  Captain  Montreville,  he  was'  answered,  "  Wow,  Sir, 
him  an'  Miss  Laura's  awa'  at  six  o'clock  this  moi*ning."  *'  Away," 
repeated  the  Colonel,—"  Where  are  they  gone  ?"  "  To  London, 
Sir ;  and  I'm  sure  a  lanely  fchne  we'll  hae  till  they  come  hame  again.'* 
''  What  stay  do  they  intend  making?"  "  Heth/Sir,  I  dare  say  that's 


37 

what  they  diaua  kcn'thcmsels."  "  Wliat  is  their  address  r'  inquired 
the  Colonel.  "  What's  your  will,  Sir  .?"  "  Where  are  they  to  be 
found  r"  "  Am'n  I  tellan  you  they're  in  London,  Sir.  I'm  sure  ye 
ken  whar  that  is  ?"  "  But  how  are  }  ou  to  send  their  letters  ?'* 
**  Wow  !  they  never  got  mony  letters  but  frae  England ;  and  now 
'at  they're  in  London,  ye  ken  the  folk  may  gie  them  into  their  aiii 
hand.'  "  But  suppose  you  should  have  occasion  to  write  to  them 
yourself?"  said  Hargrave,  whose  smaU  stock  of  patience  wore  fast 
to  a  close.  "  Heth,  Sir,  sorrow  a  scrape  can  I  write.  They  learn 
a'  hae  newfangled  things  now ;  but,  trouth,  i'  my  young  days,  we 
were  na'  sae  upsettan  "  Hargrave  was  in  no  Immour  to  canvas  the 
merits  of  the  different  modes  of  education,  and,  muttering  an  ejacu- 
lation, in  which  the  word  devil  was  distinctly  audible,  he  turned 
awav. 

A  cxed  and  disappointed,  he  wandered  down  the  churchyard-l:.na 
and  reached  the  spot  w^here  he  had  last  seen  Laura.  He  threw 
himself  on  the  seat  that  had  supported  her  graceful  form — called 
to  mind  her  consuminate  loveliness — her  ill  repressed  tenderness — 
and  most,  cordially  consigned  himself  to  Sutan  for  neglecting  to 
wring  from  her  some  further  concessions.  §he  was  now  removed 
from  the  solitude  where  he  had  reigned  without  a  rival.  Hers 
would  be  the  gaze  of  every  eye — hers  tlie  command  of  every  heart. 
"  She  may  soon  choose  among  numbers,"  cried  he, — •'  she  will 
meet  witli  people  of  her  own  humour,  and  some  canting  hypocriti- 
chI  scourwlrel  will  drive  me  completely  from  her  mind."  By  the 
time  he  had  uttered  this  prediction,  and  bit  his  lip  half  tlu'ough — 
he  was  some  steps  on  his  w-ay  to  order  his  horses,  that  he  might 
purs  le  his  fair  fugitive,  in  the  hope  of  extorting  from  her  some  less 
equivocal  kind  ot  promise.  Fortunately  for  his  reputation  foi- 
sanit}-,  however,  he  recollect<^d,  before  he  began  his  pursuit,  that 
ere  he  could  ovei'tuke  her,  Laura  must  have  reached  Ediii burgh, 
where,  without  a  direction,  it  might  be  difficult  to  discover  her 
abode.  In  this  dilemma,  he  was  again  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
the  old  woman  at  the  cottage;  but  she  could  give  him  no  informa- 
tion She  neither  knew  how  fong  Captain  lyfontreviile  purposed 
remaining  iji  Edmburgh,  nor  m  what  part  of  the  towni  he  intended 
to  reside. 

Thus  baffled  in  his  enquiries,  Hargrave  was  convinced  that  his 
pursuit  must  be  ineffectual ;  and,  in  no  very  placid  frame  of  mind, 
he  changed  his  destination  from  Edinburgh  to  his  quarters.  He  ar- 
rived th^re  in  time  for  a  late  dinner,  but  his  wine  was  msipid,  his 
companions  tiresome;  and  he  retired  early,  that,  early  next  moming, 
he  might  set  out  on  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  from  whom  he  purpo- 
sed to  learn  C^tain  Montreville's  address. 

On  comparing  the  suppressed  melancholy  of  Laura,  her  embar- 
rassanent  at  the  mention  of  Hargrave,  and  her  inadvertant  disclo- 
sure, wath  her  father's  detail  ot  her  rejection  of  the  iasmuating  y.)ung 
soldier,  a  suspicion  wot  very  remote  from  truth,  had  entered  tiio 
mind  of  Mrs.  Douglas,  ^he  imagined  that  Captain  Montroville  hud 
in  sonic  way  J^eeu  deceived  as  to  the.  kind,  of  proposals  made  to  lus 

Vet   I  D 


38 

'iaug-litev;  and  that  Laura  had  rejected  no  offers  bat  such  as  It 
^vOuld  liavc  been  infamy  to  accept.  Under  this  conviction,  it  is  hot 
surprising-  that  her  reception  of  the  Colonel  was  far  from  being 
cordial ;  nor  that,  guessing  his  con-espondence  to  be  rather  intend- 
ixi  for  the  young  lady  than  for  the  old  gentleman,  slie  chose  to  af- 
ford no  facility  to  an  intercourse  which  she  consickred  as  both  dan- 
gerous and  degi-ading.  To  Hargrave's  questions,  therefore,  she 
answered,  thvt  until  she  should  hear  from  London,  she  was  ignorant 
of  Captain  Montrevillc's  address;  and  that  the  time  of  his  return 
was  utterly  unknown  to  her.  When  the  Colonel,  with  the  same  in- 
io!ition,  soon  after  repeated  his  visit,  she  quietly,  but  stcadilv,  eva- 
ded all  his  inquiries,  equally  unmoved  by  his  entreaties,  and  the  pa- 
roxysms of  impatience  with  which  he  endured  his  disapp(5intment. 

Hargrave  was  the  only  cliild  of  a  widow — an  easv,  indolent,  good 
sort  of  a  woman,  wlio  would  g^ladly  have  seen  hnn  become  every 
thing  that  man  ought  to  be,  provided  she  could  have  accomphshed 
tills  laudable  desire  without  recourse  to  such  harsh  instruments  as 
contradiction  and  restraint.  But  of  these  she  disliked  the  use,  as 
mucli  as  her  son  did  the  endurance  :  and  thus  the  young  gentleman 
vras  educated,  or  rather  gi*ew  up,  without  the  slightest  acquaintance 
w  ith  either.  Of  consequence,  his  naturally  warm  temper  became 
^  iolent,  and  his  constitutionally  strong  passions  ungovernable. 

HargTave  was  the  imdoubted  heir  of  a  title,  and  of  a  fine  estate. — 
Of  money  he  had  never  felt  the  want,  and  did  not  know  the  value  ; 
he  was,  therefore,  so  far  as  money  was  concerned,  generous  even  to 
profusion.  His  abilities  were  naturally  of  the  highest  order.  To 
force  him  to  the  improvement  of  them,  was  an  effort  above  the  pow- 
er of  Mrs.  Hargi'ave ;  but,  fortunately  for  him,  ere  his  habits  of 
mental  inaction  were  irremediable,  a  tedious  illness  confined  him  to 
recreations  in  v/hich  mind  had  some  share,  however  small.  During 
tlie  interdiction  of  bats  and  balls,  he,  by  accident,  stumbled  on  a 
volume  of  Peregrine  Pickle,  which  he  devoured  with  great  eager- 
ness ;  and  his  mother,  delighted  with  what  she  was  pleased  to  call 
a  turn  for  reading,  took  care  that  this  new  appetite,  shoidd  not,  any 
more  than  the  old  ones,  pine  for  want  of  gratification.  To  direct  it 
to  food  wholesome  and  invigorating,  would  have  required  unremit-' 
ting  tlioiigh  gentle  labour :  and  to  labour  of  all  kinds  Mrs  Hargrave 
had  a  practical  antipathy.  But  it  was  very  easy  to  supply  the  young 
man  with  romances,  poetry,  and  plays ;  audit  was  pleasing  to  mis- 
take their  intoxicating  effects  for  the  bursts  of  mental  vigour.  A 
taste  for  works  of  fiction,  once  firmly  established,  never  after  yielded 
to  the  attractions  of  sober  truth ;  and,  though  his  knov.'ledge  of  his- 
toiywas  neither  accurate  nor  extensive,  Hargrave  could  boast  an- 
intimate  acquaintance  with  all  the  plays,  v.ith  almost  all  the  poetry, 
ar.d,  as  far  as  it  is  attainable  by  human  diligence,  with  all  the  myri- 
ads of  romances  i'.i  his  mother  tongue.  He  had  chosen,  of  his  own 
free-will,  to  study  the  art  of  playing  on  the  flute;  the  violin  requir- 
ii!g  more  patience  tlian  he  had  to  bestow ;  and  emidation,  which 
fulcd  to  incite  him  to  more  useful  pursuits,  induced  him  to  ti-y 
vvUcthcrhc  could  not  drjvw  j\s  w^U  US  his  play-fellovr",  De  Coercy.— 


39 

At  liie  age  oi'  s-eventcen  lie  liad  entered  the  army.  As  lie  was  of 
good  famdv,  of  an  elcg-ant  figure,  and  furnisbed  by  nature  with  one 
of  the  finest  countenances  she  ever  formed,  his  company  was  court- 

1     ed  in  the  highest  circles,  and  to  the  ladies  he  was  particularly  rc- 

'  ceptable.  Among  such  associates,  his  manners  acquired  a  liiLih  ]io- 
lish  ;  and  he  improved  in  what  is  culled  knowledge  of  the  world  ; 
tliAtis,  a  facility  of  discovering,  and  a  dexterity  in  managing  the 
weaknesses  of  others  One  year — one  tedious  year,  his  regime iil 
had  been  quartered  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  retircmcr^t  where 
the  aforesaid  De  Courcy  was  improving  his  "  few  patemul  ucrcs  ;" 
and,  partly  by  his  persuasion  and  example,  partly  from  having  little 
else  to  do,  partly  because  it  was  the  fashionable  science  of  the  day, 

^  ,  Hargrave  hud  prosecuted  the  study  of  Chemistry.     I'hus  have  \\\: 

•  detailed,  and  in  some  measure  accounted  for,  the  whole  of  Colonel 
Hargravc's  accomplishments,  excepting  only,  perhaps,  the  one  in 
which  he  most  excelled — he  danced  inimitably  For  the  rest,  he 
had  what  is  called  a  good  heart ;  that  is,  he  disliked  to  witness  or 
infiict  pain,  except  from  some  incitement  stronger  than  advantage 
to  the  sufierer.  His  fine  eyes  had  been  seen  to  fdl  with  tears  at  a 
tale  of  e'egatit  distress  :  he  could  even  compassionate  the  more  vul- 
gar sorrov.'s  of  cold  and  hunger  to  the  extent  of  relieving  them,  pro- 
vided always  that  the  relief  cost  nothing  but  money.  Some  casual 
instances  of  his  feeling,  and  of  his  charity,  had  fallen  under  the  ob- 
.  servation  of  Laura;  and  upon  these,  i»pon  the  fascination  of  his  man- 
ners, and  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  her  fervid  imagination 
had  grafted  every  virtue  that  can  exalt  or  adorn  humarity.  Gentle 
reader,  excuse  the  delusion.     Laura  was  only  seventeen — Hai'gravc 

I  w^as  the  first  handsome  man  of  fashion  she  had  ever  knov.n,  the  first 
who  had  ever  poured  into  her  ear  the  sootlnng  voice  of  love. 

Unprepared  to  find,  in  an  obscure  village  in  Scotland,  the  most 

I  perfect  modtil  of  dignified  loveliness,  Hargrave  became  tlic  sudden 
captive  of  her  charms  ;  and  her  manner,  so  void  of  all  design, — ths 

\  energy — the  sometimes  v»-ild  poetic  grace  of  her  language — tlie 
shrewdness  with  wliich  she  detected,  and  the  simplicity  with  which 
she  unveiled,  the  latent  motives  of  action,  v-hether  in  herself  or  iu 
©thers,  struck  him  with  all  the  force  of  contrast,  as  he  compared  them 
with  the  moulded  artificial  standard  of  the  day.  His  interest  in  licr 
was  the  strongest  he  had  ever  felt,  even  before  it  was  heightened  by 
a  reserve  that  came  too  lace  to  repress  or  conceal  the  tenderness  v.  iih 
which  she  repaid  his  passion.  Yet  Hargrave  was  not  less  insensible 
to  the  real  charms  of  Laura's  mind,  than  she  was  unconscious  of  llic 
defects  in  his.  Her  benevolence  pleased  him  ;  for  bright  eyes  look 
brighter  through  tears  of  sympathy,  and  no  smile  is  so  lovely  as  tlial: 
which  shines  on  the  joys  of  others.  Her  modesty  charmed  him  ; 
for  every  voluptuary  can  tell  what  allurements  blushes  add  to  beau- 
ty. But  of  her  self-denial  and  humility  he  m.ade  no  account.  Her 
piety,  never  obtruded  on  his  notice,  had  at  first  escaped  his  obser- 
vation altogether;  and,  now  that  it  thwarted  his  favourite  pursvii^ 
he  considered  it  merely  as  a  troublesome  prejudice.  Of  idl  her  va- 
luable qualities,  her  unfailing  sweetness  of  temper  Wf.s  perhaps   ho 


40 

ovily  one  that  he  valued  for  its  own  sake.  But  her  person  heidoiized. 
To  obtain  lier  no  exertion  would  have  appeared  too  formidable ;  and, 
j'cmemLcring  the  conditions  of  their  future  reconciliation,  he  began, 
JOY  the  first  time  in  liis  life,  to  consider  his  conduct  with  a  view  to 
iis  moral  fitness. 

This  he  found  a  subject  of  inextricable  difficulty  He  was  igjio- 
rant  of  the  standard  by  which  Laura  would  judge  him.  He  was 
v;illing"  to  believe  that,  if  she  were  left  to  herself,  it  would  not  be  se- 
vere ;  but  the  v/ords  of  her  promise  seemed  to  imply,  that  his  con- 
duct v,-as  to  be  subjected  to  tiic  scrutiny  of  less  partial  censors,  and 
he  felt  some  anxiety  to  know  who  were  to  be  his  "  wise,"  "  sober- 
minded,"  "  pious"  inspectors.  He  did  not  game,  his  expenses  did 
not  much  exceed  his  mcome,  therefore  he  could  imagine  no  change 
in  his  dcportm.ent  necessary  to  conciHate  the  "  wise."  Though,  un- 
der the  name  of  sociality,  he  indulged  freely  in  wine,  he  seldom  ex- 
ceeded to  intoxication.  Here  again  reform  seemed  needless.  But, 
that  he  might  give  no  offence  to  the  '*  sober-minded,"  he  intended  to 
conduct  his  indispensable  gallantries  with  great  discretion,  he  de- 
ierm/ined  to  refrain  from  all  approach  to  seduction,  and  magnani- 
mously resolved  to  abstain  from  the  molestation  of  innocent  country 
twirls  and  decent  maid-servants.  Finally,  to  secure  the  favour  of  the 
**pio\is,"  he  forthwith  made  a  purchase  of  Blair's  sermons,  and  re- 
solved to  be  seen  in  church  once  at  least  every  Sunday. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  when  the  scale  of  duty  which  we  trace 
Is  low,  we  should  be  the  more  hkely  to  reach  the  httle  eminence  at 
which  v/e  aspire ;  but  experience  shows  us,  tliat  they  vho  poorly 
circumscribe  the  Christian  race,  stop  as  much  short  of  their  humbfe 
design,  as  does  he  of  his  nobler  purpose,  whose  glorious  goal  is  per- 
fection. The  sequel  will  shov/  the  attainments  of  Colonel  Hargrave 
in  the  v.'ays  of  virtue  In  the  meantime  his  magnet  of  attraction  to 
Perthshire  was  gone ;  he  soon  began  to  grow  weary  of  the  feeling  of 
restraint,  occasioned  by  supposing  himself  the  subject  of  a  system  of 
es*}ionage  .-  and  to  kill  the  time,  and  relieve  himself  from  his  imagi- 
iiary  shackles,  he  sought  the  assistance  of  the  Edinburgh  races  ;  de- 
termined, that  if  Laura  prolonged  her  stay  in  London,  he  would  ob- 
■'  tin  leaA'C  of  absence,  and  seek  her  there. 


CHAPTER  Vll. 


The  gray  lights  of  n^oniing  shone  mild  on  Gfenalbert,  as  the  car- 
tiage,  which  was  conveying  Laura  to  scenes  unknown,  wound  slowly 
up  the  hill.  With  waterv  eves  she  looked  back  on  the  quiet  beauties 
of  her  native  valley.  She  hstened  to  the  da.shing  of  its  stream,  till 
the  murmur  died  on  her  ear.  Her  lowly  home  soon  glided  behmd 
the  woods  ;  but  its  early  smoke  rose  peaceful  ft'om  amidst  its  shel- 
tering  oaks,  till  it  blended  with  the  mists  of  the  morning :  and  Lau- 


41 

fa  ^zed  on  it  as  on  the  parting  steps  of  a  friend.  "  Oh,  vales  1" 
she  exchiimed,  **  where  my  childhood  sported— mountains  that  have 
echoed  to  my  songs  of  praise,  amidst  your  shades  may  my  age  find 
shelter— may  your  wild  flowers  bloom  on  my  grave !"— Captain 
MonU-eville  pressed  the  fair  enthusiast  to  his  breast  and  smiled.  It 
was  a  smile  of  pity— for  M<jntreville's  days  of  enthusiasm  were  past. 
It  was  a  smile  of  pleasure— for  we  love  to  look  upon  the  transcript 
of  om-  early  feelings.  But,  whatever  it  expressed,  it  was  discord 
with  the  tone  of  Laura's  mind.  It  struck  cold  on  her  glowing  heart ; 
and  she  carefully  avoided  uttering  a  word  that  might  call  forth  such 
another,  till,  bright  gleaming  in  the  setting  sun,  she  first  beheld  ro- 
mantic Edinburgh.  "  Is  it  not  glorious !"  she  cried,  tears  of  wonder 
and  delight  glittering  in  her  eyes,  and  slie  longed  for  its  re-appear- 
ance, when  the  descent  of  the  httle  eminence  which  had  favoured 
their  view,  excluded  the  city  from  their  sight. 

As  tlie  travellers  approached  the  town,  Laura,  whose  attention 
was  rivetted  by  the  castle  and  its  rocks,  now  frowning  majestic  in 
the  shades  of  twihght,  and  by  the  antique  piles  that  seemed  the  work 
of  giants,  scarcely  bestowed  a  glance  on  the  neat  rov/  of  modem 
buildings  along  which  she  was  passing,  and  she  was  sorry  v^iien  the 
carriage  turned  from  the  objects  of  her  admiration  tov.  ards  the  hotel 
wliere  Captain  MontreVilleMntended  to  lodge. 

Next  morning,  Laura,  eager  to  renew  the  pleasure  of  the  even- 
ing, proposed  a  walk;  not  without  some  dvei.d  of  eiicountering 
the  crowd  which  she  expected  to  find  hi  such  a  city.  Of  tliis  crowd 
she  had,  indeed,  seen  nothing  tlie  night  before  ;  but  she  conclud- 
ed, ere  that  she  reached  town,  most  of  the  inhabitants  had  soberly 
retired  to  rest.  At  the  season  of  the  year,  however,  when  Laura 
reached  Edinburgh,  slie  had  little  cause  for  apprehension.  The 
noble  streets  through  which  slie  passed  had  the  appearance  of  be- 
ing  depopulated  by  pestilence.  The  houses  were  uninhi.b't.ed,  the 
window-shutters  were  closed,  and  the  gra;is  grew  from  tlic  crevi- 
ces of  the  pavement.  The  few  well-dresstd  people  whom  she  sav/, 
stared  upon  her  with  such  oppressive  curiosity,  as  gave  the  unini- 
tiated Laura  a  serious  uneasiness.  At  first  she  thoug'ht  that  some 
peculiarity  in  her  dress  occasione^l  this  embarrassing  scrutiny. — 
IJut  her  dress  was  simple  mourning,  and  its  form  tiie  least  con- 
spicuous possible.  She  next  imagined,  that  to  her  rather  unusua! 
stature  she  owed  this  unenviable  notice- ;  and,  with  a  little  displea- 
sure, she  remarked  to  her  father,  that  it  argoicd  a  strange  want  </i' 
delicacy  to  appear  to  notice  the  peculiarities  of  any  one's  f/gurc ; 
and  that,  in  this  respect,  the  upper  ranks  seemed  more  destitute 
of  politeness  than  their  inferiors.  Captain  Montreviile  answered, 
with  a  smile,  that  he  did  not  think  it  was  her  liejght  v»Jiich  drew 
such  attention.  "Well,"  said  she,  with  great  simplicity,  "I  must 
endeavour  to  find  food  for  my  vanity  in  tins  not  ce,  tljough  it  is  ra- 
ther against  my  doing  so,  that  the  women  stare  more  tremendous- 
ly titan  the  gentlemen." 

As  they  passed  the  magnificient  shops,  the  windows,  gay  v.ith 
very  variety  of  color,  constantly  .attracted  Laura's  inexperienced 
D2 


42 

eye;  and  she  asked  Montreviile  to  accGmpany  her  into  one  where 
she  wished  to  purchase  some  necessary  trifle.  The  shopman  ob- 
serving- licr  attention  fixed  on  a  box  of  artificial  flowers,  spread 
them  before  her;  and  tried  to  invite  lier  to  purchase,  byextolling- 
the  cheapness  and  beauty  of  his  g^oods.  "Here  isacharmuig' 
sprig-  of  myrtle,  ma'am  ;  and  here  is  a  geranium-v*rreath,  the  most 
becoming*  thing-  for  the  liair — only  seven  shillings  each,  ma'am/' 
I.:iura  owned  the  flowers  were  beautiful.  "Bat  I  fear,"  said  she, 
looking-  compassionately  at  the  man,  "you  will  never  be  able  to 
{;ell  tlxem  all.  There  are  so  few  people  who  would  give  seven  shil- 
iing-s  for  what  is  of  no  use  whatever."  "  I  am  i*eally  sorry  for 
that  poor  young  man,"  said  she  to  her  father,  when  they  left  the 
shop.  "  Tall,  robutit,  in  the  very  flower  of  his  age,  how  lie  must 
feel  humbled  by  being  obliged  to  attend  to  such  trumpery  ?'»— 
"  Why  is  your  pity  confined  to  him  ?"  said  Montreviile.  "  There 
were  several  otliers  in  the  same  situation."  "Oh  !  but  they  were 
children,  and  rnay  do  something  better  by  and  by.  But  the  tall 
one,  I  suppose,  is  the  son  of  some*reak  mother,  who  fears  to  trust 
him  to  fight  his  country's  battles.  It  is  hard  that  she  should  have 
power  to  compel  hini  to  such  degi-adation  ;  I  really  felt  for  him 
when  he -twirled  those  fiov.ers  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and 
looked  so  much  in  earnest  about  nothing.''  The  next  thing  which 
drew  Laura's  attention,  v.^as  a  staymaker's  sign.  "  Do  the  gentle- 
men here  wear  corsets  ?"  said  she'  to  Monti-eville.  "  Not  many  of 
them,  I  believe,"  said  Montreviile.  "  What  makes  you  inquu-e  ?" 
"  Because  tliei'e  is  a  Tnan  opposite  who  makes  corsets.  It  cannot 
surely  be  for  w^omen." 

Captain  Montreviile  had  only  one  female  acquaintance  in  Edin- 
burgh, a  lady  of  some  fashion,  and  hearing  that  she  was  come  to 
town  to  remain  till  after  the  races,  he  that  forenoon  carried  Laura 
to  wait  upon  her.  The  lady  received  them  most  graciously,  in- 
quired how  long  they  intended  to  stay  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  on  be  - 
ing  answered  that  they  wfere  to  leave  it  in  two  days,  overwhelmed 
them  with  regrets,  that  the  shortness  of  their  stay  ^precluded  her 
from  the  pleasure  of  their  company  for  a  longer  visit.  Laura  re- 
j^retted  it  too  ;  but  utterly  ignorant  of  the  time  wliich  must  alapse 
"oetweena  fashionable  invitation  and  the  consequent  visit,  she  could 
not  help  wondering  whetlier  the  lady  was  really  engaged  for  each 
of  the  four  daily  meals  of  two  succeeding  days. 

These  days,  Captain  Montreviile  and  his  daugliter  passed  in  ex- 
;imining  this  picturesque  city — its  public  libraries,  its  antique  cas- 
'.le,its  forsaken  palace,  and  its  splendid  scenery.  But  notliing  in 
its  cjinguliir  environs  more  charmed  the  eye  of  Laura  than  one  de- 
serted vialk,  where,  though  tlie  noise  of  multitudes  stole  sofiened 
on  the  ear,  scarcely  a  trace  of  human  existence  v/us  visible,  except 
the  ruin  of  a  little  chaple  which  peeped  fancifully  from  the  ledge 
of  a  rock,  and  reminded  lier  of  the  antic  gambol*  of  the  red  deer 
or.  her  naxive  hills,  v.hen,  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice,  th?y 
look  fearless  ;nlo  tlie  dell  below.  Captain  Montreviile  next  €on^ 
■vlucted  his  daughter  to  the  top  of  the  fantastic  mountuiu  Uwt 


43 

adorns  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Edinburgh,  and  triumph' 
antly  demanded  whether  ahe  had  ever  seen  such  a  prospect:  IJut 
Laura  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  let  Perthshire  yield  the  palm 
to  Lowland  scenerj'.  Here  indeed,  the  prospect  was  varied  and 
rxtensive,  but  the  objects  were  too  various,  too  distant,  too  gay — 
they  glared  on  the  eye— the  interest  was  lost.  The  serpentine 
corn-ridges,  offensive  to  agricultural  skill ;  the  school,  with  it« 
well  frequented  Gean-tree ;  the  bright  green  clover  fields,  seen 
at  intervals  through  the  oak  coppice ;  the  church,  half  hid  by  its 
venerable  ash  trees ;  the  feathery  birch,  trembling  in  the  brciith 
of  evening;  the  smoking  hamlet,  its  soft  colors  blending  with  those 
of  the  rocks  that  sheltered  it;  the  rill,  dashing  with  fiiiry  anger  in 
the  channel  which  its  winter  fury  had  furrowed — these  wei-c  the 
simple  objecis  which  hud  charms  for  Laura,  not  to  be  rivaled  by 
neat  inclosures  and  whitened  villas.  Yet  the  scenes  before  her 
were  delightful,  and  had  not  captain  MontrevlUe's  appeal  recalled 
the  comparison,  she  would  in  the  pleasure  whichthey  excited,  have 
forgotten  the  less  splendid  be.:uties  of  Gienulbert- 

Montreville  pointed  out  the  road  that  led  to  England.  Laura 
sent  a  longing  look  towards  it,  as  it  wotmd  amid  woods  and  vil- 
lages and  gentle  swells,  and  was  lost  tQ  the  eye  in  a  cotmtry  which 
smiled  rich  and  uiviting  from  afar.  She  turned  her  eyes  where 
the  Forth  is  lost  in  the  boundless  ocean,  andsighed  as  she  thought 
on  tlie  perils  and  hardships  of  them  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships.  Montreville,  unwilling  to  subject  her  to  the  inconveniences 
of  a  voyage,  had  proposed  to  continue  his  journey  by  land,  and 
Laura  herself  cotild  not  ihmk.  without  reluctance  of  tempting  the 
faithless  deep.  The  scenery  too,  which  a  journey  promised  to  pre- 
sent, glowed  in  her  fervid  imagination  with  more  than  nature's 
beauty.  Yet  feeling  the  necessity  of  rigid  ecojiom}-,  and  determin- 
ed not  to  permit  her  too  indulgent  parent  to  ctmsu'lt  her  accommo- 
dation at  the  expense  oi"  his  prudence,  she  it  was,  who  persuaded 

,  Montreville  to  prefer  a  passage  by  sea, as  the  mode  of  conveyance 
best  suited  to  his  finances. 

The  next  day  otur  travellers  embarked  for  London.  The  wea- 
ther was  fine,  and  Laura  remained  all  day  upon  deck,  amused  with 
the  novelty  of  her  situation.      Till  she  left  her  native  solitude,  she 

!  had  never  even  seen  the  sea,  except  when  from  a  mountain  top,  it 
seemed  far  off  to  mingle  with  the  sky  ;  and  to  her,  the  majestic 
Forth,  as  it  widened  into  an  estuary,  seemed  itself  a  «  world  of 
waters,**  But  when  on  one  side  the  land  receded  from  the  view, 
when  the  great  deep  lay  before  her,  Laura  looked  upon  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  sliuddering,  tui-ned  away.  «  It  is  too  mournful,"  said 
she  to  her  father— «*  were  there  but  one  spot,  however  small,  how- 
ever  dimly  descried,  which  fancy  might  people  with  beings  like 
ourselves,  I  could  look  with  pleasure  on  the  gulf  between— but 
berethere  is  no  resting  place  Thus  cUsmal,  thus  overpowerijig, 
methinks  eternity  would  have  appeared,  had  not  a  haven  of  rest  been 
iiiade  known  to  us.'*  Compared  with  the  boundless  expanse  of 
waters,  the  little  bark  in  which  she  was  floating  seemed  «  dimin- 


44 


1 


ished  to  a  pohiC ;  and  Laura  raising  her  eyes  to  the  stars,  that  were 
beginning  to  glimmer  tliroiigh  the  twilight,  thougiit  that  such  a 
speck  was  the  wide  world  itself,  amid  the  immeasureable  space 
in  which  it  rolled.  This  was  Laura's  hour  of  prayer,  and  far  less 
inviting  circvmistances  can  recall  us  to  the  acts  of  a  settled  habit. 

Five  days  tliey  ghded  smoothly  along  the  coast  On  the  moi'U- 
ing  of  the  sixth,  tliey  entered  the  river,  and  the -same  evening 
reached  London.  Laura  listened  with  something  like  dismay,  to 
the  mingled  discord  that  now  burst  upon  her  ear.  The  thun- 
dering of  loaded  carriages,  the  wild  cries  of  the  sailors,  the  strange 
dialect,  the  ferocious  oaths  of  the  populace,  seemed  but  parts  of 
the  deafening  tumult.  When  they  were  seated  in  the  coach  which 
was  to  convey  them  from  tlie  quay,  Laura  begged  her  father  to 
prevail  on  the  driver  to  wait  till  the  unusual  concourse  of  carts  and 
sledges  should  pass,  and  heard  With  astonishment  that  the  delay 
would  be  vain.  At  last  they  anuved  at  the  inn  where  Captaiji 
Montreville  interided  to  remain  till  he  could  find  lodgings  ;  and, 
to  Laura's  great  surprise,  they  completed  their  journey  without  be- 
ing jostled  by  any  carriages,  or  overturn (.,d  by  any  waggoner— for 
aught  she  knew,  without  running  over  any  children. 

Being  shown  into  a  front  parlour,  Laura  seated  herself  at  a  win- 
dow, to  contemplate  the  busy  multitudes  that  thronged  the  streets  ; 
-and  she  could  not  help  contrasting  their  number  and  appearance 
with  those  of  the  inhabitants'of  Edinburgh.  There  the  loiter'ng 
step,  the  gay  attire,  the  vacant  look,  or  the  inquisitive  glnnce,  told 
that  mere  amusement  v/as  tlie  object  of  their  walk,  if  indeed  it  had 
an  object.  Here,  every  face  was  full  of  business — none  stared, 
none  sauntered,  or  had  indeed  the  power  to  saunter,  the  double 
tide  carrying  them  resistlessly  along  in  one  direction  or  the  other. 
Among  all  the  varieties  of  feature  tliat  passed  before  her,  Laura 
saw  not  one  familiar  countenance ;  and  she  uivoluntarily  pressed 
closer  to  her  father,  while  she  thought,  that  among  these  m}  riads 
ihe  should,  but  for  him,  be  alone. 

Captain  Montreville  easily  found  an  abode  suited  to  his  humble 
ch'curastances ;  and,  the  day  after  his  arrival,  he  removed  with  his 
daughter  to  the  second  floor  above  a  shop  in  Holborn.  The  land- . 
lady  was  a  widow,  a  decent  orderly-looking  person ;  the  apart- 
ments, though  far  from  elegant,  were  clean  and  commodious.— 
They  consisted  of  a  parlour,  two  bedchambers,  and  a  small  room, 
or  rather  closet,  which  Laura  immediately  appropriated  as  her 
painting-room.  Here  she  found  amusement  hi  arrangmg  the  ma- 
terials  of  her  ail,  while  Captain  Montreville  walked  to  the  wcst  end^ 
of  the  town,  to  confer  with  his  agent  on  the  unfortunate  c;aise  of 
his  visit  to  London.  He  was  absent  for  some  hours  ;  and  Laura, 
utierly  Ignorant  of  the  length  of  his  walk,  and  of  its  difticuiues  to 
one  who  had  seen  the  metropolis  for  twenty  years,  began  to  be 
uneasy  at  his  stay.  He  reUuned  at  last,  fatigued  and  dispirited, 
w.diout  having  seen  Mr.  Baynard,  who  w  is  indisposed,  and  could 
not  admit  him.  After  a  silent  dinner,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  so- 
fa,  juid  dismissed  his  daughter,  saying  that  he  felt  inclined  to 


45 

sleep.  Laura  look  this  opportunity  to  wi-ltc  to  >frs.  Douj^las  a 
piirticular  account  of  lier  travels.  She  mentiontri  wth  affect  ion  tUe 
interest  some  of  her  few  acquaintances  n.t  Glenalbert,  and  inquired 
for  all  the  individuals  cl  Mrs  Douglas's  family;  but  the  name  of 
Hargrave  did  not  once  occur  in  Ik  v  letter,  though  nothing  could 
exceed  her  curiosity  to  know  how  the  Colonel  had  borne  her  de- 
parture, of  wliich,  afraid  of  liis  vehemence,  she  had,  at  their  last 
interview,  jnirposely  avoided  Vo  inform  him. 

Having  ttnishedher  letter,  L-iura,  that  she  might  not  appear  to 
repress  civility,  availed  herself  of  her  landlady's  invitation  to 
"  come  now  and  ther,"  as  she  expressed  it,  « to  have  a  chat ;"  and 
descended  to  the  parlour  below.  On  perceiving  that  Mrs.  Dcwkins 
was  busily  arrangiiigthe  tea  equipage,  with  an  air  that  showed  she 
expected'company,  Laura  would  have  retreated,  but  her  hostess 
would  not  suffer  her  to  go.  «'  No,  no,  Miss,^  said  she,  "  lexpects 
nobody  but  my  daughter  Kate,  as  is  married  to  Mr.  Jones  the  ha- 
beidaslier ;  and  you  mustn't  go,  for  she  can  tell  you  all  about 
-Scotland ;  and  it  is  but  natural  to  think  that  you'd  like  to  hear 
about  your  owi\  countn*,  now  when  you  are  in  a  foreign  land,  as  a 
body  may  say." 

The  good  woman  had  judged  well  hi  the  bribe  she  offered  to  her 
giiest,  who  immediately  consented  to  join  her  party;  and  who, 
perceiving  that  -Mrs.  Dawkins  was  industrioiisty  spreading  innume- 
rable slices  of  bread  and  butter,  courteously  offered  to  share  her 
toils.  Mrs.  Dawkins  thanked  her,  und  accepted  her  services,  ad- 
ding, "indeed  it's  very  hard  as  I  should  have  all  them  there  things 
to  do  myself,  when  I  have  a  grown  up  daughter  in  the  house. 
But,  poor  thing,  it  a'n't  her  fault  after  all,  for  she  never  was 
lavnt  to  do  noOiingof  use."  "That  was  very  unfortunate,"  said 
-  Laura.  **  Yes,  but  it  might*nthave  been  so  misfortunate  neither, 
only,  you  see,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was.  My  sister,  Mi*s.  Smitli, 
had  a  matter  of  10,000/.  left  her  by  her  husband,  and  so  she  took 
a  fancy  when  July  was  born  as  she'd  have  her  called  a  gi'and 
name  ;  and  Tm  sure  an  unlucky  name  it  W:ts  for  her;  for  many  a 
fine  freak  it  has  put  into  her  head.  Well,  and  so  as  I  was  say- 
ing, she  took  July  home  to  herself,  and  had  her  larnt  to  paint 
and  to  make  fillagree,  and  play  on  the  piano,  and  what  not : 
and  to  be  sure  we  thought  she  would  never  do  no  less  than 
provide  for  her.  But  what  do  }ou  think?  why,  two  years  ago, 
she  ran  away  wiih  a  }oung  ensign,  as  had  nothing  in  the  var- 
sal  world  but  his  pay;  and  so  July  came  home  just  as  she 
went;  and  what  was  woi*st  of  all,  she  could'nt  do  no  more  in 
the  shop  nor  ihe  d^ty  she  was  bovn." 

"  That  was  hard,  indeed,"  said  Laura. 

"  Wasn't  it  now  ?--but  one  comfort  was,  I  had  Kate  brought  up 
in  another  guess-way  ;  fori  larnt  her  plain  work  and  writing,  and 
how  to  cast  accounts  ;  and  never  let  her  touch  a  book,  except  the 
prayer-book  a-Sundays ;  and  see  what's  the  upshot  on't.  Why, 
though  July's  all  to  nothing  the  prettiest,  nobody  has  never  made 
an  offer  for  she,  and  Kate's  got  married  to  a  warm  man  as  any  in 


46 

Ills  line  hereabouts,  and  a  man  as  has  a  Iiousc  not  ten  doors  off;— . 
and  besides,  as  snug  a  box  in  the  country  as  ever  you  seed,— so  con- 
venient you've  no  idear.  Why,  I  dare  say,  there's  a  matter  of  ten 
stag-e  coaches  pass  by  the  door  every  day." 

To  all  this  family  history,  Laura  listened  witli  great  patience, 
wondering,  however,  what  could  induce  the  narrator  to  take  so  much 
trouble  for  the  information  of  a  strang;er. 

The  conversation,  if  it  deserves  the  name,  .was  now  interrupted  l>y 
the  entrance  of  a  youn^  woman,  whom  Mrs.  Dawkins  introduced  as 
her  daughter  July.  Her  figure  was  short,  incUning  to  embonpoint, 
— her  face,  though  ratlier  pretty,  round  and  rosy,—  and  her  whole 
appearance  seemed  the  antipodes  of  sentiment.  She  had,  however, 
a  book  in  Iver  hand,  on  which,  after  exchanging  compliments  with 
Laura7  she  cost  a  languishing  look,  and  said,  ''  I  have  been  paying 
a  watery  tribute  to  the  sorrows  of  my  fair  name-sake.*'  Then  point- 
ing out  the  title-page  to  Laura,  she  added,  "  You,  I  supp:>se,  have 
of' en  done  so.' 

It  WHS  the  tragedy  of  The  Minister,  and  Laui*a,  reading  tlie 
name  aloud,  said,  she  was  not  acquainted  with  it. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Dawkins,  "  that's  the  young  woman  as  swears 
so  horridly.  No,  I  dares  to  say.  Miss  Montreville  never  read  no 
such  thing.  If  it  an't  a  shame  to  be  seen  in  a  Christian  woman 
hands,  it  is.  And  if  she  would  read  it  by  herself,  it  would  be  nothing  ; 
but  there  she  goes,  ranting  about  the  house  like  an  actress,  cursing- 
all  aloud,  worser  nor  the  drunken  apple-woman  at  the  corner  of  the 
street." 

"  Pray  Mamma,  forbear,"  said  Miss  Julia  Dawkins,  in  a  plaintive 
tone  ;  •*  it  wounds  my  feelings  to  hear  you.  I  am  sure,  if  Miss 
Montreville  would  read  this  play,  she  would  own  that  the  expres- 
sions which  you  austerely  denominate  curses,  give  irresistible  ener- 
gy to  the  language." 

"  This  kind  of  energy,"  said  Laura,  with  a  smile,  "  has  at  least 
die  merit  of  being  very  generally  attainable."  This  remark  was 
not  in  Miss  Julia's  line  She  had,  therefore,  recourse  to  her  book, 
end  with  great  variety  of  grimace,  read  aloud  one  of  Casimir's  im- 
passioned, or,  As  Laura  thought,  frantic  speeches.  The  curious 
contrast  of  the  reader's  manner,  with  her  appearance,  of  the  affected 
sentlrnentality  of  har  air,  with  the  robust  vidgarity  of  her  figure, 
struck  Laura  as  so  irresistibly  ludicrous,  that,  though  of  all  young 
ladies,  she  was  the  least  addicted  to  tittering,  her  politeness  would 
have  been  fairly  defeated  in  the  struggle,  had  it  not  been  reinforce|^t 
by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones.  The  former  was  a  little 
man,  in  a  snuff-colored  coat,  and  a  brown  wig,  who  seemed  to  be 
about  fifty,  — the  latter  was  a  good-humoured  common-place  looking 
woman,  of  about  half  that  age.  Laura  was  pleased  with  the  cordi- 
lity  with  which  Mr.  Jones  shook  his  mother-in-law  by  the  hand,  say- 
ing,  "  W.'ll,  Mother,  Is  brought  you  Kate  pure  and  hearty  again, 
and  the  little  fellow  in  fine  and  well,  tho'f  he  be  too  young  to  come 
a  wisiti  ng." 

As  soon  as  the  commotion  occasioned  by  their  entrance  was  over. 


47 

M(d  i^:\ur:.  iv.ri.i.iily  in.ule  acquainted  wiUidie  lady,  Mrs.  D;i\iKii,'i 
bcg-an,  "  1  hopes,  Kate,  you  ha'nt  furg-ot  how  to   tell   about   your 
jauiit  toScolliind;  for  this  here  yount^  lady  staid  tea  just  o*   pur- 
pose to  hear  it."     "  Oh,  that  1  ha"'nt,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  I'm  sure 
1  shall  xcnicmber  it  the  longest  day  I  have  to  live."     "  Pray  Miss," 
added  she,  turning  to  Luura,  "was  you  ever  in  Glasgow :"  Never,'* 
said  Laura ;    "  but  1  have  heard  that  it  is  a  fine  city."     "  Ay,  but 
I've  been  there  first  and  last  eleven  days  ;  and  I  can  say  f3r  it,  it 
is  really  a  handsome  town,  and  a  mortof  good  white-stone  houses 
in  it.     For  you  see,  when  Mr.  Jones  married  me,  he  had  not  been 
allogeth  r  satisfied  with  his  rider,  and  he  thoft  as  he'd  go  down  to 
Glasgow  himself  and  do  business  ;  and  that  he'd  make  it  do  for  his 
wedding  jaunt,  and  that  would  be  killing  two  dogs  with  one  stone." 
"That  was  certainly  an  excellent  plan,"  said   Laura.     "Well," 
continued  Mrs.  Jones,  "when  we*d  been  about  a  week  in  Glasgow, 
wc  were  had  to  dine  one  day  with  Mr.  Mactavish,  as  supplies  Mr. 
Jones  with  ginghams  ;  and  he  talked  about  some  grand  house  of 
one  of  your  Scotch  dukes,  and  said  as  how  we  must'nt  go  home 
williout  seeing  it-     So  we  thought  since  we  had  come  so  tar,  we 
might  as  well  see  what  was  to  be  seen."     "Certainly,"  said  Lau- 
ra, at  the  pause  which  was  made  to  take   breath,  and  receive  ap- 
probation.    "  Well,  we  went  down  along  the  river,  which,  to  say- 
truth,  is  very  pretty,  tka'f  it  be  not  turfed,  nor  kept  neat  around  the 
edges,  to  a  place  they  calli^d  Dumbarton  ;  where  there  is  a  rock, 
for  all  the  world,   like  an  ill-hiade  sugar  loaf,  with  a  slice  out  o' 
the  middle  on't ;  and  they  told  us  there  Wus  a  castle  on  it,  but  such 
a  castle  I"     "Pray,  sister,"  said  Mjss   Julia,  "have  you  an  accu- 
rate idea  of  what  conslitutes  a  castle  ?  of  the  keeps,  the  turrets,  the 
winding  staircases,   and  the  portcuUis  ?"  "  Bless  you,  my  dear," 
returned  the  traveller,  "  ha'nt  I  seen  Windsor  b-stie,  and  t'other's 
r.omore  like  it — no  more  tlian  nothing  at  rdl.    Howsoever,  we  olcpt 
that  night  at. a  very  decent  sort  of  an  inn  ;  and  Mi-.  Jones  thought 
as  we  were  so  comfortable,  we  had  best  come  back  to  sleep.     So 
as  the  duke's  house  was  but  thirty  miles  ofi,  wc  thought  ii  we  set 
off  soon  in  the  morning,  we  might  get  back  at  night.     So  off'  we  sot, 
and  went  two  stages  to  breakfast,  at  a  place  with  one  of  their  out- 
landish names;  and  to  be  sartain,  when  we  got  there,  we  were  as 
hungry  as  hounds.     Well,   we   called  for  hot   rolls ;  and,  do  but 
think,  there  was'nt  no  such  thing  to  be  had  for  love  or  m.oney." 

Mrs.  Jones  paused  to  gnve  Lr.ura  time  for  the  expression  other 
pity ;  but  she  remained  silent  and  Mrs.  Jones  resumed :  "  Well, 
they  brought  us  a  loaf  as  old  as  St.  Paul's,  and  somegood  enougix 
butter-,  so  thinks  I,  I'll  make  us  some  good  warm  toast ;  for  Iio>e,s 
to  iv.ake  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain.  So  I  bid  the  waiter  bring  us 
tlic  toast-stool ;  but  if  you  had  seen  how  he  stared, — why,  the  poor 
fellor  had  never  heard  of  no  such  thing  in  his  life.  Then  they 
showed  us  a  huge  mountain,  as  black  as  a  soot-bag,  just  opposite 
tiie  window,  and  said  as  wc  must  go  up  there ;  but,  tliinks  1,  catcli 
us  at  tiat ;  for  if  we  be  so  bad  ofl'  here  for  breakfast,  what  shall 
we  bv  li.cr^  tbr  di2incr,     So  my  husband  ar.d  I  were  of  i\  mind  up 


49 

on  it,  to  g'et  back  to  Glasgow  as  fast  as  we  could  ;  for,  thought? 
be  sure  it  cost  us  a  power  of  money  coming  down,  yet,  thinks  we, 
the  first  loss  is  the  best.'* 

*'  What  would  I  have  given,"  cried  Miss  Julia,  turning  up  the 
whites  of  her  eyes,  "  to  have  been  permitted  to  mingle  my  sighs 
with  the  movmtuin  breezes  !'*  Mrs.  Jones  was  accustomed  to  her 
sister's  nonsense,  ^nd  she  only  shrugged  her  shoulders.  But  INfrs. 
Dciwkins,  provoked  that  her  daughter  should  be  so  much  more 
than  usually  ridiculous  before  a  stranger,  said,  «  Why,  child,  how 
can  you  be  so  silly  ? — what  in  the  world  should  you  do  sighing  o* 
top  of  a  Scotch  hill  ?  I  dare  say,  if  you  were  there  you  might 
sigh  long  enough  before  you'd  find  such  a  comfortable  cup  of  tea, 
as  what  you  have  in  your  hand."  Miss  Julia  disdained  reply;  but 
turning  to  our  heroine,  she  addressed  her  in  a  tone  so  amusingly 
sentimental,  that  L.iura  feared  to  listen  to  the  purport  of  her 
speech,  lest  the  manner  and  the  matter  united  should  prove  too 
much  for  her  gravity ;  and  rismg,  she  apoligized  for  retaining,  by 
saying,  that  she  heard  her  father  stir,  and  that  she  must  attend 
him. 

When  two  people  of  very  different  ages  meet  tete-a-tete  in  a 
room,  where  they  are  not  thoroughly  domesticated, — where  there 
are  no  books,  no  musical  instruments,  nor  even  that  great  bond  of 
sociality,  a  fire, — .t  requu'esno  common  invention  and  vivacity  to 
pass  an  evening  with  tolerable  cheerfulness.  The  little  appear- 
ances of  discomfort,  however,  which  imperceptibly  lower  the 
spirits  of  others,  had  generally  an  opposite  effect  upon  those  of 
L.iura.  Attentive  to  the  comfort  of  eveiy  human  being  wl\o  ap- 
proached her,  she  was  alw-iys  the  first  to  discover  the  existence 
and  cause  of  the  "  petty  miseries  of  life  ;" — but,  accustomed  -to 
con.sider  them  mex'ely  as  calls  to  exertion,  they  made  not  the 
slightest  impression  on  her  spirits  or  temper.  The  moment  she 
cast  her  eyes  up  an  her  father,  leaning  on  a  tible,  where  stood  a 
pair  of  candles  that  but  half-lighted  the  i-oom ;  and  on  the  chim- 
ney, where  fiided  fennel  occupied  the  place  of  a  fire,  she  perceiv- 
e4  that  all  her  efforts  would  be  necessary  to  produce  any  thing 
like  comfort.  She  began  her  operations,  by  enticing  her  father  out 
of  the  large  vacant  room,  into  the  small  one,  where  she  intended 
to  work.  Here  siie  prepared  his  coflee,  gave  him  an  account  of 
the  party  below  stair.j,  read  to  him  her  letter  to  Mrs.  Douglas,  and 
did  and  said  eery  thing  she  co.iid  imagine  lO  amuse  him. 

When  the  efforts  to  entertain  ai'e  entirely  on  one  side,  it  is  scarce- 
ly in  human  nature  to  continue  tliem ;  and  Laura  was  beginning  to 
feel  very  blank,  when  it  luckily  occurred  to  her,  tliatshe  had  brought 
)ier  little  chess-board  from  Glenalbert.  Away  she  flew,  and  in  tri- 
umph produced  this  infallible  resort.  The  match  was  pretty  equal. 
Captain  Montreville  had  more  skill,  Laura  more  resource;  and  she 
defended  herself  long  and  keenly.  At  last  she  was  within  a  move 
of  being  check-mated.  But  the  move  was  hers ;  and  the  Captain  in- 
tlie  jieat  of  victory,  overlooked  a  step  by  which  t.  e  fortune  of  the- 
game  would  have  been  reversed,    Laui-a  saw  it,  and  eagerly  exteiv 


49 

ded  her  hand  to  the  piece  ;  but  recollecting  that  there  is  something 
in  die  pride  of  man's  nature  which  abhors  to  be  beaten  at  chess  by  u 
lady,  she  suddenly  desisted;  and,  sweeping  her  Uly  arm  across  the 
bo;ird,  "  Nay,  now,"  she  cried,  with  a  look  of  ineffable  good  na- 
ture, "  if  you  were  to  complete  my  defeat  after  all  my  hair-breadth 
'scapes,  you  could  not  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  expect  tliat  I  should 
keep  my  temper."  "  And  how  dare  you,"  said  Captain  Montrcville 
in  great  good  humor  with  his  supposed  victory,  "  deprive  me  at 
once  of  the  pleasures  of  novelty  and  of  triumph  ?"  By  the  help  of 
this  auxiUary,  the  evening  passed  pleasantly  away;  and,  before  ano- 
ther came,  Laura  had  provided  for  it  the  cheap  luxury  of  some 
books  from  a  <:irculat'mg  library. 


CHAPTER  Vra. 

Fon  tlie  firstfortnight  after  Captain  MontrevlUe's  arriAal  In  Lo;:- 
don,  almost  every  forcnooo  was  spent  in  unavailing  attempts  to  see 
Mr.  Baynard,  whose  illness,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  had  increased 
to  such  a  degree,  as  left  no  hope  that  he  could  soon  be  in  a  condi- 
tion for  attendmg  to  business.  Harrassed  by  suspense,  and  weary 
of  waiting  for  an  hiterview  which  seertled  every  day  more  distant, 
Captain  Montreville  resolved  to  stay  no  longer  for  his  agent*.s  in- 
troduction to  Mr.  Warren,  but  to  visit  the  young  heir,  and  himself 
explain  his  errand.  Having  procured  Mr.  Warren's  address  from 
iJaynard's  servants,  he  proceeded  to  Portlaiid-strcet ;  and  knocking 
At  the  door  of  a  handsome  house,  was  there  informed  tliat  Mr. 
Warren  was  gone  to  Brighton,  and  was  not  expected  to  rctiirn  for 
three  weeks. 

Captain  Montreville  had  now  no  resource  but  to  unfold  his  de- 
mands to  Mr.  Warren  in  writing.  He  did  so,  stating  Ixis  cla;m.s 
with  all  the  simple  energy  of  trutli;  but  no  answer  was  returned. 
He  fatigued  himself  and  Laura  in  vain,  with  conjecturing  the 
cause  of  this  silence.  He  feared  that,  though  dictated  by  scrupu- 
lous politeness,  his  letter  might  have  given  offence.  He  iiiU'igined 
that  it  might  have  miscarried,  or  that  Mr.  Warren  might  have  left 
Bnghton  before  it  reached  him.  All  his  conjectures  were,  how- 
ever,  wide  of  the  truth.  The  letter  had  given  no  ofiencc,  for  it 
had  never  been  read.  It  safely  readied  tiie  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed,  just  a^he  was  adding  a  finishing  touch  to  Uie  graces  of 
a  huge  silk  handkerchief  m  which  he  had  enveloped  his  <phiii>.prc- 
paratory  to  the  exhibition  of  his  person,  and  of  vtn  ele^Ut  new 
curricle  upon  the  Steine.  A  single  glance  had  convinced  hlra  tlia!. 
the  letter  was  unwonliy  to  encroach  on  this  momentous  concern — 
he  had  thrown  it  aside,  intending  to  read  it  when  he  h.*d  notluii;-; 
else  to  do,  and  had  seen  it  no  more,  till  on  his  return  to  Londo;;^ 

VOL.  t,  El. 


50 

lie   unrolled  from  it  his  bottle  of  esprit  de  rose,  which  Jus  vuk-; 
had  wrapped  in  its  folds. 

Tlie  three  wearisome  weeks  came  to  an  end  at  last,  as  well  as  a 
fourth,  wliicli  tlie  atti'actions  of  Brighton  prevailed  on  Mr.  War- 
ren  to  add  to  his  stay  ;  and  Captain  Montreville,  making  another, 
almost  hopeless,  inquiry  m  Portland-sU'cet,  was,  to  his  gi-eat  joy, 
admitted  to  the  long-desired  conference.  He  found  the  young  man 
in  his  nightgown,  reclining  on  a  sofa,  intently  studious  of  tJie 
Sportsman's  Magazine,  while  he  ever  and  anon  refreshed  himscll' 
for  ihis  his  luera.ry  toil,  by  sipping  a  cup  of  chocolate.  Being 
courteously  invited  to  partake,  the  Captain  began  by  apologizing 
for  his  intrusion,  but  pleaded  that  his  business  was  of  such  a  n:i- 
ture  as  to  require  a  personal  interview.  At  the  mention  of  busi- 
ncs9,  the  smile  forsook  its  prescriptive  station  on  the  smooth  face 
of  Mr.  Warren.  «  Oh,  pray  pardon  me.  Sir,"  said  he,  "  my  agent 
manages  all  my  matters—l  never  meddle  with  business— I  have 
really  no  head  for  it.  Here,  Du  Moulin,  give  this  gentleman  Mr. 
Williams's  address.'*  "  Excuse  me,  Sh-,"  said  Captain  Montreville. 
**  On  this  occasion  I  must  entreat  that  you  will  so  far  depart  from 
your  rule  as  to  permit  me  to  state  my  business  to  you  in  person.'* 
"'  I  assure  you.  Sir,"  said  the  beau  rising  from  his  luxurious  pos- 
ture,  "  I  know  nothing  about  business — the  very  name  of  it  is  to 
me  the  greatest  bore  in  life  ;— it  always  reminds  me  of  my  old 
dead  uncle.  The  poor  man  could  never  talk  of  any  thing  but  of 
bank-stock,  the  price  of  the  best  Archangel  tar,  and  the  scarcity 
of  hemp.  Often  did  I  wish  the  hemp  had  been  cheap  enough  to 
make  him  apply  a  little  of  it  to  his  own  use — but  the  old  cock  took 
wing  at  last  without  a  iialter,  he,  he,  he.'* 

*'  I  shall  endeavour  to  avoid  these  offensive  subjects,'*  said  Cap- 
tain  Montreville,  smiling.  "  The  affair  in  which  1  wish  to  interest 
you,  is  less  a  case  of  law  than  of  equity,  and  therefore  I  must  beg 
permission  to  state  it  to  }  our  personal  attention,  as  your  agent 
might  not  think  himself  at  liberty  to  do  me  the  justice  which  I 
may  expect  from  you.'* 

Mr.  Warren  at  this  moment  recollected  an  indispensable  engage- 
ment, and  begged  that  Captain  Montreville  would  do  liim  the  fa- 
vour to  call  another  time — secretly  resolving  net  to  admit  him. 
*«  I  shall  not  detain  you  two  minutes,"  said  tire  Captaiii ;  "  I  sliall 
In  a  few  Vvords  state  my  request,  and  leave  )'OU  to  decide  upon  it 
when  you  are  more  at  leisure."  "  Well,  Sir,'*  replied  Mr.  ^V^ar- 
ren,  with  something  between  a  sigh  and  an  ill-suppressed  yawn, 
*'  if  it  must  be  so."— 

*'  About  eighteen  months  ago," resumed  the  Captain,  "my  agent, 
Mr.  Baynard,  paid  15  Jv>/.  to  your  late  vgicle,  as  the  price  of  an  an- 
nuity on  my  daughter's  hie.  The  deed  is  now  found  to  be  informal, 
and  Mr.  AN  illiams  has  refused  to  make  any  payment.  Mr.  Buy- 
nai'd's  indisposition  has  prevented  me  from'  Seeing  him  since  my 
arrival  in  Loudon  ;  but  1  have  no  doubv  that  he  can  produce  a  dis- 
charge Ibi  the  price  ol  the  annuity ;  in  whxh  case,l  piJcsunie  you 
will  allow  tlie  mistake  in  the  deed  to  be  rectified.'* 


51 

*'  CertaiMly,  ccrtainlv,"  said  Mr.  Warren,  who  had  transferred 
Ills  ihougMs  from  the  subject  of  conversation  to  the  comparative 
merits  of  nankeen  pc.ntaloons  and  leaOier-breeches.  "  But  even 
if  Ml-.  Bayniu'd  sliouhl  have  no  document  to  produce,"  continued 
C.ptain  Montrcville,  "  may  I  not  hope  that  you  will  instruct  Mr. 
WiUiams  to  examine,  whetherthere  are  not  in  Mr.  Warren's  books, 
traces  of  the  aijreefnent  for  an  annuity  of  80/.  in  the  name  of  Laura 
Montreville  r"'  "  Sir  :"  said  WarrcH,  whose  ear  cauj^ht  the  tone  of 
interroE^ation,  thouc^h  the  nuuninj?  of  the  speaker  had  entirely  es- 
caped him.  The  Captiiin  repeated  hi.^  request.  "  Oh,  certainly  I 
will,"  said  the  voung  man,  who  would  have  promised  any  thing 
to  get  rid  of  tlie  subject.  *'  I  hope  the  matter  w  ill  be  found  to 
stand  as  you  wish.  At  all  events,  such  a  trifling-  sum  can  be  of 
no  sort  of  consequence."  "  Pardon  me.  Sir,"  said  Captain  Mon- 
treville, warmly,  "  to  me  it  is  of  the  greatest— should  this  trifle, 
as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it,  be  lost  to  me,  my  child  must  at  my 
death  be  left  to  uUtlie  horrors,  all  the  temptations  of  want— -tem]?- 
tations  aggi-avatcd  a  thousand  fold,  by  beauty  and  mcxperience.'* 
His  last  words  awakened  something  hke  hiterest  in  the  drowsy  soul 
of  his  hearer,  \cho  said,  with  the  returning  smile  of  self-compla- 
cency, "  Beauty,  Sir,  did  you  say  ?  beauty  is  what  I  may  call  iny 
passior — a  pretty  girl  is  always  sure  of  my  sympathy  and  gTjod 
oflices.  1  shall  call  for  Mr.  'Williams  this  very  day."  Captain 
Montr«villc  bit  his  Up.  "  Laura  Montreville,  tliought  h.e,  an  ob- 
ject of  sympathy  to  such  a  thing  as  thou!"  He  bowed,  however, 
and  said,  "  I  hope.  Sir,  you  will  find,  upon  examination,  that  Miss 
Montreville's  claims  rest  upon  your  justice."  Tlien  laying  his  ad^ 
dress  upon  the  table,  he  took  his  leave,  with  an  air  perhaps  a  little 
too  stately  for  one  who  had  come  to  ask  a  favour. 

He  returned  home,  hovvcver,  much  pleased  with  having  at  last 
met  with  Warren,  and  with  having,  as  he  imagined,  put  in  train 
the  business  on  account  of  which  he  had  jjerformed  so  long  a. 
journey,  and  suffered  so  much  uneasiness.  He  found  Laura,  too, 
in  high  spirits.  She  had  just  given  the  finishing  touches  to  a  pic- 
ture on  which  she  had  been  most  busily  employed  ever  since  her 
arrival  in  London.  She  had  studied  the  composition,  till  her  head 
ached  with  intensity  of  thought.  She  had  laboured  the  finishing 
with  care  unspeakable;  and  she  now  only  waited  till  her  work  could 
with  safety,  be  moved,  to  try  the  success  of  her  project  for  the 
attainment  of  wealth.  Of  this  success  she  scarcely  entertained  a 
doubt.  She  was  sensible, indeed,  that  the  picture  had  many  fiiults, 
but  not  so  many  as  that  on  which  Mrs.  Douglas's  visitor  had  fixed 
so  high  a  price.  Since  painting  the  latter,  she  had  improved  in 
skill  ;  and  never  had  she  bestowed  such  pains  as  on  her  present 
work  The  stranger  had  said  that  the  Scipio  in  .Mrs.  Dou^j-las's 
picture  was  interesting.  The  Leonidas  in  this  was  much  more  so 
— she  could  not  doubt  it,  for  he  resembled  Hargrave.  She  had 
hoped  the  resemblance  would  be  apparent  to  no  eye  but  her  ov.n. 
Her  father,  however,  had  noticed  it,  and  L  lura  had  tried  to  alter 
the  head,  but  the  Captain  declared  she  had  spoiled  it.    Laura 


■   52 

tliout^ht  so  herself,  and,  after  sketching  a  hundred  regularly  hand- 
some countenances,  could  be  satisfied  with  none  that  bore  not 
some  affinity  to  her  only  standard  of  manly  beauty. 

To  add  to  the  pleasure  with  which  Laura  surveyed  the  comple- 
tion of  her  labours,  she  had  that  day  received  a  letter  from  Mi's?. 
Douglas,  in  which  mention  was  made  of  Hargrave. 

In  her  first  letters  to  Laura,  Mrs.  Douglas  had  entirely  avoided 
this  subject.  Almost  a  month  Laura  had  waited,  with  sickening 
impatience,  for  some  hint  from  which  she  i.-.ight  gather  intelligence 
of  flargrave's  motions — in  vain.  Her  friend  had  been  provolcing- 
iy  determined  to  believe  that  th^  subject  was  disagreeable  to  her 
coircspondent.  Laura  at  last  ventured  to  add,  to  one  of  her  let- 
ters, a  postsci'ipt,  in  which,  without  naming  the  Colonel,  she  in- 
quired vdicther  the regiment  was  still  at  Perth.     She  blushed 

as  she  glanced  over  this  posts.cript.  She  thought  it  had  an  air  of 
contrivance  and  design.  She  was  half  tempted  to  destroy  the  let- 
ter; but  she  could  not  prevail  on  herself  to  make  a  more  direct 
inquiry  ;  and  to  forbear  making  any  was  almost  impossible.  An 
answer  had  this  day  arrived  ;  and  Laura  read  no  part  of  it  with 
such  interest,  as  that  which,  with  seeming  carelessness,  informed 
her  that  the  Colonel  had  been  several  times  at  the  parsonage  :  and 
that  Mrs.  Douglas  understood  from  report,  that  he  was  soon  to 
visit  London. 

Again  an<l  again  did  I^aura  read  this  passag-e,  anA  ponder  every 
v.'ord  of  it  with  care.  I  am  playing  the  foDl,  said  she  to  herself,  and 
laid  the  letter  aside  ;  took  it  up  again  to  ascertain  some  particu- 
lar expression,  and  again  read  the  paragi-aph  which  spoke  of  Har- 
grave, and  again  p.aused  upon  his  name.  She  was  so  employed  whea 
her  father  entered,  and  she  made  an  instinctive  motion  to  conceal 
the  paper  ;  but  the  next  moment  she  held  it  out  to  him,  saying, 
"  This  is  from  Mrs.  Douglas."  "  Vv ell,  my  love,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, "  if  there  are  no  secrets  in  it,  read  it  to  me.  I  delig-ht  in 
ilrs.  Douglas's  simple  aifirctionate  style."  Laura  did  as  she  was 
desired ;  but  when  she  reached  the  sentence  wliich  began  with 
the  n"me  o^  Hargrave,  she  blushed,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  passing  it  over,  began  the  nexi  paragraph. 

AS^ithout  both  caution  and  self-command,  the  most  upright  wo- 
m:.n  v.ill  be  guilty  of  subterfuges,  where  love  is  in  question.  Men 
can  talk  of  the  object  of  their  affections — they  find  pleasure  in 
confuViUg,  in  describing,  in  dwelling  upon  their  passion — ^but  the 
ove  of  women  seeks  concealment.  If  she  can  talk  of  it,  or  even  of 
-ny  thing  that  leads  to  it,  tlie  fever  is  imaginary,  or  it  is  past. — 
"■'  It  is  very  strange,"  said  the  Captain,  when  Laura  had  concluded, 
*•  that  Mrs.  Douglas  never  mentions  Hargrave,  when  she  knows 
wliat  an  interest  I  take  in  him."  Laiu-a  colotu-ed  crimson,  but  re- 
mained silent.  ♦'  What  do  you  think  can  be  her  reason  ?"  asked 
the  Cr^ptahi.  This  was  a  question  for  which  La\U"a  could  find  no 
cvtision  short  of  actual  deceit ;  and  with  an  efibrt  far  more  pain* 
fulthan  that  from  wliich  her  little  artifice  had  saved  her,  her  lovely 
face  und  neck  glowing  with  confusionj  she  said ;  "  She  docs  men  • 


:'^-r 


55 


tion — only  I— I.  Please  to  read  it  yourself;"  and  she  pointed  it  out 
to  her  father,  who  prepared  by  her  hesitation  to  expect  something 
very  particular,  was  surprised  to  find  the  passage  so  entirely  un- 
impoilant.  "  Why,  Laura,"  said  he,  «*  what  was  there  to  prevent 
you  from  reading  this  ?'*  To  this  question  Laura  could  make  no 
reply  ;  and  the  Captain,  after  gazing  on  her  for  some  moments  in 
vain  hope  of  an  explanation,  dismissed  the  subject,  saying,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  Well,  well— women  are  creatures  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand." 

Laura  had  often  and  deeply  reflected  upon  the  propriety  of  con- 
fiding to  her  father  her  engagement  with  Ilargravc.  Vague  as  it 
was,  she  thought  a  parent  had  an  indisputable  right  to  be  infonn- 
edof  it.  Her  promise  too  had  been  conditional,  and  what  judge  so 
proper  as  her  father  to  watch  over  the  fulfilment  of  its  conditions  ? 
What  judge  so  proper  as  her  father  to  examine  the  character,  and 
to  inspect  the  conduct,  of  the  man  who  might  one  day  become  her 
husband  ?  But,  amidst  v\[  the  train  of  delightful  visions  which 
tliis  thought  conjured  up,  Laura  felt  that  Hargrave's  conduct  had 
been  such  as  she  could  not  endure  that  her  father  sliould  remem- 
ber against  his  future  son.  Captain  Montrcville  was  now  at  a  dis- 
tance from  Hargrave.  -Before  they  could  possibly  meet,  her  ar- 
guments, or  her  entreaties,  might  have  so  far  prevailed  over  the 
subsiding  passions  of  .her  father,  as  to  dissuade  him  from  a  fash- 
ionable vindication  of  her  honour.  But  what  was  to  restore  her  lo- 
ver to  his  present  rank  in  tlie  Captain's  regard  ?  What  would  blot 
from  his  recollection  the  insult  ottered  to  his  child  ?  Without  men- 
tion of  that  insult,  her  tale  must  be  almost  unintelligible ;  and  she 
was  conscious  that,  if  she  entered  on  the  subject  at  all,  her  father's 
tenderness,  or  his  autliority,  might  unlock  everv  secret  of  her 
breast.  The  time  when  her  engagement  could  produce  any  conse- 
quence  was  distant.  Ere  it  arrived,  something  unforeseen  might 
possibly  remove  her  difficulties  ;  or,  at  the  worst,  she  hoped  thai, 
before  she  permitted  her  father  to  weigh  the  fault  of  Hargi-ave,  she 
should  be  able  to  balance  against  it  the  exemplary  propriety  of  his 
after  conduct.  She  was  not  just  satisfied  with  this  reasoning ;  but 
weaker  considerations  can  dissuade  us  from  what  we  are  stronglv 
disinclined  to  do  ;  and  to  unveiling  her  own  partiality,  or  the  un- 
-wortliiness  of  its  object,  Laura's  disinclination  v/as  extreme.  She 
determined  therefore  to  put  off  the  evil  hour ;  and  withdraw  her 
father's  attention  from  the  subject  of  the  letter,  by  inqui:-ing  wheth- 
er he  had  seen  Warren,  and  whetlier  he  had  settled  his  business  r,x- 
tisfactorily  ?  The  Captain  replied,  that  though  it  was  not  abso- 
lutely settled,  he  hoped  it  was  now  in  a  fair  way  of  Ifeing  so ;  and 
informed  her  of  Warren's  promise.  *'  Yet,"  added  he,  ""  any  one 
of  a  thousand  trifles  may  make  such  an  animal  forget  or  neglec: 
the  most  Important  concern.*'  "  What  sort  of  man  did  he  seem  T 
inquired  Laura.  "Man!"  repeated  the  Cuptiun,  contemptuousj--, 
*' Why,  child,  he  is  a  creature  entuely  new  to  you.  lie  talks  lik- 
a  parrot,  looks  like  a  woman,  dress(  s  like  a  monkey,  and  smelL- 
like  a  civet-cat.    You  might  have  lived  at  Ghnidbsrt  for  ^^^f■  - 

;i.2 


r^ii,^ 


$4 

f  entury,  A\-lthout  seeing  such  a  creature."  "  I  hope  he  will  visit 
us"  suid  JLauni,  *' that  we  may  not  return  home  without  seemg  at 
least  one  of  the  curiosities  of  London." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  next  day,  as  Captain  ]Montreville  sat  reading  aloud  to  his 
daughter,  who  was  busy  with  her  needle,Mr.  AVarren  was  announc- 
ed. 

Laura,  who  concluded  that  he  had  business  with  her  father,  rose 
to  retire;  but  her  visitor^ intercepting  her,  took  both  her  hands, 
sayir.g,  *'  Pray,  :Ma»m,  don't  let  me  frigiiten  you  away."  With  a 
constitutional  dislike  to  famiUarity,  Laura  coolly  disengaged  her- 
self, and  left  the  room,  without  uttering  a  syllable  ;  but  not  before 
AVarren  had  seen  enough  of  her  to  determine,  that,  if  possible,  he 
should  see  her  again.  He  was  struck  with  her  extraordinary  beau- 
t)^,  which  was  heightened  by  the  little  hectic  his  forwardness  had 
<: ailed  to  her  cheek ;  and  he  prolonged  his  visit  to  an  unfashiona- 
ble length,  in  the  hope  of  l».er  return.  He  went  over  all  the  topics 
which  he  judged  proper  for  the  ear  of  a  stranger  of  his  own  sex ; 
t.ukcd  of  the  weather,  the  news,  the  emptiness  of  the  town,  of 
horses,  ladies,  cockfights,  and  boxing-matches.  He  infonned  the 
Captain,  that  he  had  given  directions  to  his  agent  to  examine  into 
he  state  of  the  aimuity  ;  inquired  how  long  Miss  Montreviile  was 
-:o  grace  London  with  her  presence ;  and  was  told  that  she  was  to 
leave  it  the  moment  her  father  could  settle  the  business,  on  account 
of  which  a^cre  he  had  left  Scotland.  When  it  was  absolutely  ne- 
cessai-y  to  conclude  his  visit,  Mr.  WaiTen  begged  permission  to  re- 
peat it,  that  he  might  acquaint  Captain  Montreviile  with  the  suc- 
cess of  his  agent;  secretly  hoping,  that  Laura  would  another  time 
be  less  inaccessible. 

Laura  meanvvhile  thought  his  visit  would  never  have  an  end. — 
Having  wandered  into  every  room  to  which  sshe  had  access,  and 
ibr.nd  rest  in  none  of  them,  she  concluded,  rather  rashly,  that  she 
{•hould  find  more  comfort  in  the  one  from  which  his  presence  ex- 
cluded her.  That  disease  of  the  mind  in  which  by  eager  antici- 
pations of  the  future  many  are  unfitted  for  present  enjoyment,  was 
}icw  to  the  active  spirit  of  Laura.  The  happiness  of  her  life,  (ajid 
:-:pite  of  the  caprices  of  her  mother,  it  had,  upon  the  whole,  been  a 
happy  one,)  kad  chiefly  arisen  from  a  constant  succession  of  regu- 
lar,  but  varied  pursuits.  The  methodical  sequence  of  domestic, 
usefulness,  andimpioving  study,  and  healthful  exercise,  afforded, 
calm  yet  immediate  enjoyment ;  and  the  future  pleasure  which  they 
promised  was  of  that  indefinite  and  progressive  kind  which  pi  o- 
vokes  no  eager  desires,  no  impatient  expectation.  Laura,  there- 
tore,  had  scarcely  ever  known  what  it  was  to  long  for  the  morrow ; 
but  en  this  day,  the  mcrruw  was  jiiUicipated  with  y/ishful  golici- 


55 

tucle,— a  soiicilude  wliich  banished  from  her  mind  even  the 
thoughts  of  Ilargrave.  Never  did  youthful  btidcgroom  look  for- 
ward  to  his  nuptial  hour  with  more  ardour,  than  did  Laura  to  that 
which  was  to  begin  the  realization  of  her  prospects- of  wealth  and 
independence.  The  next  day  was  to  be  devoted  to  the  sale  of  her 
picture.  Her  father  was  on  that  day  to  visit  Mr.  Baj-nard  at  Rich- 
mond,  whither  he  had  been  removed  for  the  benefit  of  a  purer  air  ; 
and  she  hoped  on  his  return,  ta  surprise  her  beloved  parent  with 
an  unlooked-for  treasure.  She  imagined  the  satisfaction  with 
which  she  should  spread  before  him  her  newly  acquired  riches,-— 
the  pleasure  with  which  she  wduld  listen  to  his  praises  of  her  di- 
ligence ;— above  all,  her  fancy  dwelt  on  the  deUght  which  she 
should  feel  in  relieving  her  father  from  the  pecuniary  embarrass 
ment,  in  which  she  knew  him  to  be  involved  by  a  residence  in  Lon* 
don  so  much  longer  than  he  had  been  prepared  to  expect. 

That  she  might  add  to  her  intended  gift  the  pleasure  of  sur- 
prise, she  was  resolved  not  to  mention  her  plan  for  to-morrow  ^ 
and  with  such  objects  ill  contemplation,  how  could  she  rest'-- 
of  what  other  subject  could  she  speak  ?  She  tried  to  banish  it 
from  her  mind,  that  she  might  not  be  wholly  unentertaining  to  her 
father,  who,  on  her  account,  usually  spent  his  evenings  at  home  — 
But  the  task  of  amusing  was  so  laborious,  that  she  was  giad  to  re- 
ceive in  it  even  the  humble  assistance  of  Miss  Julia  Dawkins. 

This  young  lady  had  thought  it  incumbent  on  her  to  assault  our 
heroine  with  a  most  violent  friendship  ;  a  sentiment  which  often 
made  her  sufficiently  impertment,  though  it  was  a  little  kept  in 
check  by  the  calm  good  sense  and  natural  reserve  of  Laura,  The 
preposterous  affectation  c^  Julia  somet-mes  provoked  die  smiles,  but 
more  frequently  the  pity  of  Laura  ;  for  her  real  good  nature  could 
find  no  pleasure  in  seeing  human  behigs  make  themselves  ridicu- 
lous, and  she  applied  to  the  cure  of  Miss  Dawkins's  foibles,  the  in- 
genuity wliich  many  would  have  employed  to  extract  amusement , 
from  them.  She  soon  found,  however,  that  she  was  combating  a 
sort  of  Hydia,  from  which,  if  she  succeeded  in  lopping  off  one  ex- 
crescence, another  was  instantly  ready  to  sprout.  Having  no  char- 
acter of  her  own,  Julia  was  always,  as  nearly  as  she  was  able,  the 
heroine  whom  the  last  /ead  novel  inclined  her  to  personate. — 
But  as  those  who  forsake  the  guidance  of  nature  are  in  im- 
minent danger  of  absurdity,  her  copies  were  always  caricatures. 
After  reading  Evelina,  she  sat  with  her  mouth  extended  in  a 
perpetual  sm.le,  and  was  so  very  timid,  that  she  would  not 
for  the  world  have  looked  at  a  stranger.  When  Camilla  was 
the  model  for  the  day,  she  became  insufferably  rattling,  infaib- 
tine,  and  thoughtless.  After  perusing  the  Gossip's  story,  she, 
in  imitation  of  the  rational  Louisa,  suddenly  waxed  verj-  v.-ise — 
spoke  in  sentences — desplrsed  romance— sewed  shifts— and  read 
sermons.  But,  in  the  midst  of  this  fit,  she,  in  an  evil  hour,  open- 
ed a  volume  of  the  Nouvelle  Eloise,  which  had  before  disturbed 
many  wiser  heads.  The  shifts  were  left  imfinished,  the  sermons 
tlijrown  aside,  joi^  Mjss  Julia  retums^J  with  renewed  i7m/«m*  to 


56 

the  sentimental.  This  aftenioon  her  studies  had  changed  their  di- 
rection, as  Laura  instantly  guessed  by  tlie  lively  air  with  which 
she  entered  the  room,  saying  that  she  had  brought  her  netting,  and 
would  sit  will)  her  for  an  houi\  «B>it  <lo,  my  dear,"  added  she, 
"  fii'st  show  me  the  picture  you  have  be^^n  so  busy  with  ;  Mamma 
says  it  is  beiiutiful,  for  she  peeped  in  at  it  the  other  day.*' 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  Laura  had  no  liigh  opinion  of  Miss 
Dawkinss  skill  in  painting;  but  she  remembered  Moliere's  old 
woman,  and  went  with  great  g<^S  will  to  bring  her  performance, 
"  Oh  charming,"  exclaimed  M  ss  Julia,  when  it  was  placed  before 
her  ;  «  the  figure  of  the  man  is  quite  delightful ;  it  is  the  very 
image  of  tliat  bewitching  creature  Tom  Jones.**  «  Tom  Jones  !'» 
cried  Laura,  starting  back  aghast.  «  Yes,  my  dear,"  continued 
Julia  ;  "  just  such  must  have  been  the  graceful  turn  of  his  limbs 
— j  'St  such  Jiis  hail-,  his  eyes,  those  lips,  that  when  they  touched 
her  hund,  put  poor  Sophia  into  such  a  flutter.*'  The  astonishment 
of  L  Luranow  gave  way  to  laughter,  while  she  said,  "  Really  Miss 
Dawkins  you  must  have  a  strange  idea  of  Tom  Jones,  or  I  a  very- 
extraordinary  one  of  Leonidas.'*  "  Leonce,  vou  mean,  in  Del- 
phine,"  said  Julia ;  "  Oh,  he  is  a  deligluful  creature  too."  "  Del- 
phine !"  repeated  Laura,  to  whom  the  name  was  as  new  as  that  of 
the  Spartan  was  to  her  companion,  "  No,  I  mean  this  for  the 
Greek  general  taking  his  last  leave  of  his  wife."  "  And  I  think," 
said  Captain  Montreville,  approaching  the  pictm-e,  "  the  suppres- 
sed anguish  of  the  matron  is  admirably  expressed,  and  contrasts 
well  With  the  scarcely  relenting  ardour  of  the  hero."  Miss 
Julia  again  declared,  that  the  picture  was  chai'ming,  and  that 
Leontine,  as  she  M^as  pleased  to  call  him,  was  divinely  hand- 
some ;  but  having  newly  replenished  her  otherwise  empty  head 
with  Fielding's  novel,  she  could  talk  of  nothing  else  ;  and  turning 
to  Laura  said,  "  But  why  were  you  so  offended,  that  I  compared 
your  Leontine  to  Tom  Jones?— Is  he  not  a  favourite  of  yours?** 
"  Not  particularly  so,"  said  Laura.  '•  Oh  why  not?— 1  am  sure  he 
is  a  delightfiU  fellow— so  generous — so  ardent.  Coine,  confess—^ 
should  you  not  like  of  all  things  to  have  such  a  lover  ?**  **  No, 
indeed,*'  said  Laura,  with  most  unusal  energy ;  for  her  thoughts 
almost  unconsciously  turned  to  one  whose  character  she  fotmd  no 
pleasure  in  associating  with  that  of  Fielding's  hero.  "And  v.hy 
no,  r'*  askeA  Miss  Julia.  **  Because,"  answered  Laura,  "  1  could 
not  admire  in  a  lover  qualities  which  would  be  odious  in  a  hus- 
bund.**  "  Oh  goodness  !'*  cried  Miss  Julia,  **  do  you  think  Tom 
Jones  would  make  an  odious  husband?"  "The  term  is  a  little 
.strong,"  replied  Laura;  "but  he  certainly  would  not  make  a 
pkasaut  yoke -fellow.  What  is  your  opinion.  Sir  ?"  turning  to  her 
fidher.  "  I  confess,'*  said  the  CapUun,  "  I  should  rather  have 
wislicd  him  to  marry  Squire  Western's  davighter  than  mine.  But 
still  tlie  character  is  fitted  to  be  popular."  "  I  think,"  said  Laura, 
"  he  is  indebted  for  much  of  the  toleration  wliich  he  receives,  to 
a  comparison  with  the  despicable  BJifil."  "  Certainly,"  said  the 
Captain ;  "  a»id  it  is  unfortunate  for  t^\<i  morality  of  the  book;, 


57 

that  iW  reader  Is  inclined  to  excuse  the  want  of  religion  in  tiiC- 
hero,  by  seeing  its  language  made  ridiculous  in  Thwackuin,  and 
villanous  Blifil.  Kven  the  excellent  Mr.  Alworthy  excites  but  fee- 
ble interest ;  and  it  is  not  by  tlie  character  which  we  respect,  but 
by  that  in  which  we  are  interested,  that  the  moral  effect  on  our 
minds  is  produced."  "  Oh,"  said  Miss  Julia,  who  very  imperfectly 
comprehended  the  Captain's  observation,  ♦*  he  might  make  a 
charming  husband  without  being  religious ;  and  then  he  is  so 
warm-heai'ted — so  generous."  "  I  shall  not  dispute  that  point 
with  you  just  now,'*  replied  Laura,  •'  tliough  my  opinion  differy 
materially  from  yours ;  but  Tom  Jones's  warmtli  of  heart  and 
genei'osity  do  not  appear  tome  of  that  kind  which  qualify  a  man 
fbr  adoi-ning  domestic  life.  His  seems  a  constitutional  warmth, 
which  in  his  case,  and  I  behve,  in  most  others,  is  the  concomitant 
of  a  warm  temper, — a  temper  as  little  favourable  to  gentleness  in 
those  who  command,  as  to  submission  in  those  who  obey.  If  by 
generosity  you  mean  tlie  cljeerful  relinquishing  of  something  which 
we  really  value,  it  is  an  abuse  of  the  term  to  apply  it  to  the  profu- 
sion with  which  your  favourite  squanders  his  money." 

"  If  it  is  not  generous  to  part  with  one's  money,'*  said  Miss 
Julia,  "  1  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  is.'* 

**  The  quiet  domestic  generosity  which  is  of  daily  use,"  replied 
Laura,  **  is  happily  not  confined  to  those  who  have  money  to  be- 
stow ;  but  may  appear  in  any  of  a  thousand  little  acts  of  self-cleniaL" 
Julia,  whose  ideas  of  generosity,  culled  from  her  favorite  romances, 
were  on  that  gigantic  kind  of  scale  that  makes  it  unfit  for  common 
occasions,  and  therefore  in  danger  of  total  extinction,  was  sdent 
for  some  moments,  and  then  said,  "  I  am  sure  you  must  allow  that 
it  was  very  noble  in  Jones  to  resolve  to  bury  in  his  own  miserable 
bosom  his  passion  for  Sophia,  after  he  knew  that  she  felt  a  mutual 
Same."  "  If  I  recollect  right,'*  said  Ltiura,  s.miling  at  the  oddity 
of  Julia's  phrases,  "  he  broke  that  resolution ;  and  I  fancy  the 
merely  reso/tj/n^  to  do  right,  is  a  degree  of  virtue,  to  which  even 
the  nioj    proH.i-'Me  attain  muny  times  in  their  lives." 

Miss  Dawkins,  by  this  time  more  than  half-suspected  her  com- 
panion of  being  a  methodist-  "  You  have  such  strict  notions,"  said 
she,  "  that  I  sec  Tom  Jones  would  never  have  done  for  you  '*  "  No," 
said  Captain  Montreville,  "Sir  Charles  Grandison  would  have 
suited  I. ill'-;. infinitely  better."  "Oh  no,  papa,*'  said  Laura,  laugh- 
ing; "if  two  such  formal  personages  as  Sir  Charles  and  I  had  met, 
am  I  afraid  we  never  should  have  had  the  honour  of  each  other's 
acquaintance." 

"  Then,  of  all  the  gentlemen  who  are  mentioned  in  novels,"  said 
Miss  Julia,  "  tell  me  who  is  your  favourite  ? — Is  it  Lord  Orville,  or 
Delville,  or  Valancourt,  or  Edward,  or  Mortimer,  or  Peregrine  Pic- 
kle, or and  she  ran  on  till  she  was  quite  out  of  breath,  repeating 

what  sounded  like  a  page  of  the  catalogue  of  a  circulating  lil  rarj'. 

"Really,"  said  Laura,  when  a  pause  permitted  her  to  speak, 
"  my  acquaintance  with  these  accomplished  persons  is  so  limited 
that  I  can  scarcely  venture  to  decide ;  but,  I  believe,  I  prefer  ihc 


o8 

hero  of  Miss  Porter's  new  publication— Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.— » 
Truly  generous,  and  inflexibly  uprig-ht,  his  very  tenderness  has  in  it 
something  manly  and  respectable ;  and  the  whole  combination  has 
an  air.  of  nature  that  interests  one  as  for  a  real  friend."  Miss  Daw- 
kins  had  never  read  the  book,  and  Laura  applied  to  her  father  for  a 
confirmation  of  her  opinion.  '*  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  Captain, 
"your  favourite  has  the  same  resemblance  to  a  human  chai-acter 
which  the  Belvidere  Apollo  has  to  a  human  form.  It  is  so  like  man 
that  one  cannot  absolutely  call  it  divine,  yet  so  perfect,  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  believe  it  human  " 

At  this  moment  Mid$  Julia  was  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  de- 
sire to  read  the  book,  Wliich  she  declared,  she  should  not  sleep  till 
she  had  doiit ;  and  she  went  to  dispatch  a  servant  in  quest  of  it. 

Laura  followed  her  down  stairs,  to  ask  from  Mrs.  Dawkins  a  di- 
rection to  a  picture-dealer,  to  whom  she  might  dispose  of  her  per- 
formance. Mrs.  Dawkins  said  she  knew  of  no  such  person ;  but 
directed  Laura  to  a  printshop,  the  master  of  which  was  her  ac- 
quaintance, where  she  might  get  the  intelligence  st>e  wanted. 

On  the  following  morning,  as  soon  as  Captain  Montreville  had 
set  out  for  Richmond,  his  daughter,  sending  for  a  hackney  coach, 
departed  on  the  most  interesting  business  she  had  ever  undertaken. 
Her  heart  fluttered  with  expectation — her  step  was  buoyant  with 
hope,  and  she  sprunginto  the  carriage  with  the  lightness  of  a  sylph. 
Stopping  at  the  shop  which  her  landlady  recommended,  she  was 
thei-e  directed  to  several  of  the  professional  people  for  whom  she 
was  inquiring,  and  she  proceeded  to  the  habitacion  of  the  nearest. 
As  she  entered  the  house,  Laura  changed  colour,  and  her  breath 
can\e  quick.  She  stopped  a  moment  to  recover  herself,  and  then 
followed  her  conductor  into  the  presence  of  the  connoisseur.  Struck 
with  the  sight  of  so  elegant  a  woman,  he  rose,  bowed  very  low,  and 
supposing  that  she  came  to .  make  some  addition  to  her  cabinet, 
threw  open  the  door  of  his  picture-room,  and  obsequiously  hoped 
that  she  might  find  something  there  worthy  of  her  notice.  Laura 
modestly  undeceived  him,  saying,  that  she  had  brought  in  the  car- 
riage wliich  waited  for  her,  a  picture  which  she  wished  to  dispose 
of.  ^  This  statement  instantly  put  to  flight  the  servility  of  her  hearer ; 
who,  with  completely  recovered  consequence,  inquired  the  name  of 
the  artist;  and  being  answered,  that  the  picture  was  not  the  work 
of  a  professional  man,  wrinkled  his  nose  into  an  expression  of  inef- 
fable contempt,  and  said — "  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  buy  any  of 
these  tilings — they  are  generally  such  vile  daubs.  Ilovvever  to 
oblige  so  pretty  a  lady,"  added  he,  (softening  his  contumelious  as- 
pect into  a  leer),  "  I  may  look  at  the  thing,  and  if  it  is  at  all  tolera- 
ble"——" There  is  no  occasion  to  give  you  tbat  trouble,"  said  Lau- 
ra, turning  away  with  an  air  which  again  half  convinced  the  man 
that  she  must  be  a  person  of  consequence.  He  muttered  something 
of  "  thinking  it  no  trouble ;  to  which  she  gave  no  attention,  i  ut  hus» 
tened  to  her  carriage,  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the 
*how-room  of  an  Italian. 

haxLi'i  did  not  give  hiitt  time  to  fall  into  the  mistake  of  the  other* 


59 

but  instantly  epened  her  business  ;  and  Mr.  Sonlni  was  obligingly 
runnini^  himself  to  lift  the  picture  from  the  ciirriage,  when  it  was 
brought  in  by  Mrs.  Dawkins'  maid,  whom  Laura  had  requested  to 
attend  her.  Having  placed  the  picture,  the  Itahan  retreated  a 
few  paces  to  examine  the  effect,"  and  then  said — "  Ah !  I  do  see — 
dis  is  leetle  after  de  manner  of  Correggio— very  pretty — very  pretty, 
indeed.'*  The  hopes  of  Laura  rose  high  at  these  encouraging 
words ;  but  suffered  mstantaneous  depression,  when  he  continued, 
with  a  shake  of  his  head,  "  but  *tistoo  new — quite  modeme  paint- 
ed in  dis  contri.  Painter  no  name~de  picture  may  be  all  so  good 
as  it  vil — it  never  vil  sell  Me  sorry,"  adde^  he,  reading  Laura's 
look  of  disappointment,  "  me  sorry  displease  such  bell  angela;  but 
caimot  buy."  "  I  am  sorr}  for  it,'*  said  Laura,  and,  sighing  heavily, 
»he  courtesied  and  withdrew. 

Her  next  attempt  was  upon  a  little  pert -looking  man,  in  a  foreign 
di'ess,  and  spectacles.  "  Hum,"  said  he,  "  a  picture  to  sell — well, 
let  us  see  t — There,  tliat  s  the  light.  Hum  a  poor  thing  enough — 
no  keeping — no  costume  Well,  Ma  am,  what  do  you  please  to  ask 
for  this  ?"  "I  should  be  glad,  Sir,  diat  you  would  fix  a  price  on  it.'* 
Hum — well — let  me  think  -I  suppose  fiv  guineas  will  he  very  fair.'* 
At  this  proposal,  the  blood  mounted  to  the  checks  of  Laura ;  and 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  examine  whether  the  proposer  really  had  the 
confidence  to  look  her  in  the  face  But  finding  his  eye  steadily  fix- 
ed on  her,  she  transfei  red  her  suspicions  from  the  honesty  of  tlie 
bidder  to  the  merits  of  her  piece,  and  mildly  answering,  "  I  shall 
not,  I  beheve,  be  disposed  to  part  with  it  at  that  price,"  she  motion- 
ed to  the  servant  to  carry  it  back  to  the  coach. 

One  trial  still  remained;  and  Laura  ordered  her  carriage  to  an 
obscure  street  in  tlic  city.  She  was  very  politely  received  by  Mr. 
Colhns, — a  young  man  who  had  himself  been  an  artist ;  but  whom 
bad  health  had  obliged  to  rehnquish  a  profession  which  he  loved. 
"  This  piece  has  certainly  great  merit,"  said  he,  after  examining  it, 
"and  most  gladly  would  I  have  made  the  purchase  ;  but  my  tittle 
room  is  at  present  overstocked,  and,  to  own  the. truth  to  you,  the 
picture  is  worth  more  tlian  my  wife  and  four  httle  ones  can  afford  to 
rentui-e  upon  speculation,  and  such  is  the  purchase  of  the  work, 
however  meritorious,  of  an  unknown  artist.  But  ifyou  wt  re  t;-  plate 
it  in  the  exhibition,  1  have  no  doubt  that  it  would  speedily  find  a 
purchaser."  Tne  prospect  which  the  exhibition  held  forth,  w:.i>  far 
too  distant  to  meet  the  present  exigency ;  for  Laura  well  knew  that 
her  father  would  find  almost  immediate  occasion  for  the  price  of  her 
labours ;  and  with  a  heavy  sigh  she  returned  to  her  carriage. 

What  now  remained  but  to  return  home  with  the  subject  of  so 
much  fruitless  toil.  Siill,  however,  she  determined  to  make  one 
effort,  more,  and  returned  to  inquire  of  the  printseller,  whether  he 
knew  any  other  person  to  whom  she  could  apply  ?  He  had  before 
given  his  whole  list,  and  could  make  no  addition  to  it.  But  observ- 
ing the  expression  of  blank  disappointment  which  overcast  her  fuce, 
he  offered,  if  she  would  trust  him  with  the  picture,  to  place  it  where 
it  wowldbe  seen  by  his  customers,  ^a  expressed,  a  behef  that  some 


60 

of  th^tn  might  purchase  It.  Laura  thankfully  accepted  the  offer, 
and  after  depositing  with  liina  her  treasure,  which  bad  lost  much  of 
its  value  in  her  eyes,  and  naming  the  price  she  expected,  she  re- 
turned home  ;  making  on  her  way  as  many  sombrous  reflections  en 
the  vanity  and  uncertainty  of  all  sublunary  pursuits,  as  ever  were 
mude  by  any  young  lady  in  her  eighteenth  year. 

She  sat  down  in  her  now  solitai'y  parlour — suffered  dinner  to  be 
placed  before  her  and  removed,  without  knowing  of  what  it  consist- 
ed ;  and  when  the  servant  who  brought  it  disappeared,  began,  like  a 
true  heroine,  to  vent  her  disappointment  in  tears.  But  soon  recol- 
lecting that,  though  she  had  no  joyful  surprise  awai-  ing  her  father's 
return,  she  might  yet  gladden  it  with  a  smiling  welcome,  she  start- 
ed up  from  her  melancholy  posture — bathed  her  eyes — ^placed  the 
tea  equipage — ordered  the  first  fire  of  the  season  to  displace  the  fa- 
ded fennel  in  the  chimney — arranged  the,  apartment  in  the  nicest  or- 
der— and  had  just  given  to  every  thing  the  greatest  possible  appear- 
ance of  comfort,  when  her  father  arrived.  She  had  need,  however, 
of  all  her  firmness,  and  of  all  the  elation  of  conscious  self-controul, 
to  resist  the  contagious  depression  of  countenance  and  manner  with 
which  Captain  Montreville  accosted  her.  He  had  good  reason  for 
his  melancholy.  Mr.  Baynard,  hi»  early  acquaintance,  almost  the 
only  person  known  to  him  in  this  vast  city,  had  that  morning  breath- 
ed his  last.  All  access  to  his  papers  was  of  course  at  present  im- 
possible ;  and  until  a  person  should  be  chosen  to  arrange  his  affairs, 
it  would  be  impracticable  for  Captain  Montreville  to  ascertain  whe- 
ther there  exis.ed  any  voucher  for  the  payment  of  the  price  of  the 
annuity.  Harrassed  by  his  repeated  disappointments, and  unendow- 
ed by  nature  with  the  unbending  spirit  that  raises  in  disaster,  he 
now  declared  to  Laura  his  resolution  to  remain  in  London  only  till 
a  person  was  fixed  upon  for  the  management  of  Mr.  Baynard's  af- 
fairs— to  lay  before  him  the  circumstances  of  his  case — and  then  to 
return  to  Scotland,  and  trust  to  a  correspondence  for  concluding  the 
business. 

At  this  moment  nothing  could  have  been  further  from  Laura's 
wish  than  to  quit  London.  Slie  wus  unwilling  to  forfeit  her 
remaining  hope  that  her  picture  might  find  a  purchase!*,  and  a  still 
stronger  interest  bound  her  to  the  place  wliich  was  so  soon  to  be 
the  residence  of  Hargravc.  But  she  saw  the  prudence  of  her  fa- 
ther':  determination — she  felt  the  necessity  of  relinquishing  a 
mode  of  life  so  unsuitable  to  his  scanty  income,  and  she  cheerfully 
acquiesced  in  his  proposal  of  returning  home.  Still  some  time 
must  elapse  bofoie  their  departure  ;  and  she  indulged  a  hope,  that 
ere  that  time  expired,  the  produce  of  her  labours  might  lighten 
theii-  pecuniary  difficulties. 

Capt.xin  IMoutrcvilit^  retired  early ;  and  Laui-a,  wearied  out  witli 
the  toils  .lud  the  disappointments  of  the  da} ,  gladly  resigned  her- 
self  to  the  peaceful  sleep  of  innocence. 

Laura  was  indebxd  partly  lo  nature,  but  more  to  her  own  ex- 
ertions, for  thai  happy  elasticity  of  spirit  which  easily  casts  oO' 
lighter  evil,  while  it  i-cadiiy  seizes,  and  fully  enjoys,  plcaswc  of 


61 

iiioaci"...c  i...^,  ...v.,  and  of  frequent  attainment.  Fcnv  of  tlic  i-."- 
ser  sorrows  of  youth  can  i-eslst  the  cheering  influence  of  early 
morn  ;  and  tlie  petty  miseries  which,  in  the  shades  of  evening,  as- 
sume portentous  size  and  colouring-,  diminisJi  wonderfully  in  Ihc 
lig-ht  of  the  ncAV-risen  sun.  With  recovered  spirits,  and  reviving' 
hopes,  Lam*a  awoke  to  joys  which  the  worldly  know  not, — the 
joys  of  pious  g-ratitudc — of  devout  contemplation — of  useful  em- 
ployment ;  and  so  far  was  her  pevsevenng  spirit  from  fiiUini^  under 
,  die  disappointments  of  the.  preceding-  day,  that  she  detennijied  to 
bc|^m  a  new  picture  the  moment  she  was  settled  at  Glenalbert,  to 
<;omposc  it  with  more  care,  and  finish  it  witli  greater  accurac}-, 
than  the  former ;  and  to  try  its  fate  at  the  exhibition.  Site  did 
not  think  the  season  of  her  father's  depression  a  fit  one  for  reh-ct- 
,  ing-'her  mortifying  adventures,  and  she  found  means  to  amuse  him 
v.ith  other  topics' till  he  left  her,  with  an  intention  to  call  in  Port- 
land-street. 

He  had  not  been  long  gone,  when  Mr.  Warren's  cumclc   stop- 
ped at  the  dooi",  and  the  young  gentleman,  on  being  informed  that 
the  Captain  Y»-as   abroad,    inquired  for   Miss    ^Montrevillc.     After 
,    paying  his  compliments  like  one  secure  of  a  good  reception,  he 
began — *'  How  could  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  refuse  me  the  pleasure 
X)f  seeing  you  the  other  day — do  you  know  I  waited  here  a  devilish 
long  time  just  on  purpose,  thong'h  I   had  promised   to   take    the 
Countess  of  Bellamer  out  an  airing,  and  she   was  off  with    Jack 
Villars  before  I  came."     "  I  am  sorry,"  said  Laura,  "that  I   have 
deprived   her  ladyship  of  the  pleasure  of  your  coinpany."     "  I 
,   should  not  have  minded  itmucli,  if  you  had   but  come    at   last — 
though  the  Countess  is  the  prettiest  creature  in  London — curse  mc 
if  she  isn't — the  present  company   always   excepted."     "  Do  you 
mean  ths  exception  for  me,  or  for  yourself  r"  said  Laura,     "'oh. 
novv%  how  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ? — I  am  sure  you  know  that 
yon  are  confoundedly  handsome."     Laura  gravelvi  surve}ed   her 
;',  own  face  in  an  opposite  looking--glass,  and  then,  with   the   nonpha- 
j,  lance  of  one  who  talks  of  the  most  indifferent  tiling  in  nature,  le- 
i.  plied, — *'  Yes,  I  think  my  features  are  uncommonly  regular."   War- 
^  reu  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  so  unusual  an  answer  to  wlu-.t  h'^ 
"U'Mided  for  a  compliment.     "  The  girl,"  thought  he,  "  inu.st  bo 
•  tc  a  fool  to  own  that  she  tliinks  herself  so   handsome."     Hov,'- 
■;-,  after  some  consideration,  he  said, — "  It  is  not  so  much   the 
iMres,  as  acertain^t' 72e  jcfli  quoi — a  certain  cliiu-m — one   docs 
:i  I  know  v»ell  v»'hat  to  call   it,   that   malces   j'ou  look  .so  divbie.'^ 
"  1  should  suppose,'*  said  Laura,     *'  from   the   subject   you  have 
chosen  to  amtise  me,  that  the  cliarm,  whatever  it  is,  has  no  great 
connection  with  intellect."     Wan-en  hesitated;  for  he   bcgaji   to 
have  some  suspicions  that  she  was  laughing  at  him.  In  spite  of  the 
imn)ovealjle  gravity  of  her  coTintenance.      "  It — It  isiyi — De'mnie, 
it  isn't  so  much  to  amuse  you;  but  when  I  sec  a  pretty  v/oinait,   I 
'  rievcr  can  help   elling  her  of  it— curse  me   if  I  can."     **  And^  drt 
often  find  that  your  intelligence  lias  the  advantage  of  iiovelty  r'* 
1  Laura;  an  aixh  smile  beginning  to  dimple  her  check,     "No, 
■''•■•    •  F 


62 

pou  honoiiiV  replied  the  beau,  "the  women  are  so  insufferably 
conceilecl,  they  leave  one  nothing  new  to  tell  them."  **  But  some 
tj,'entlemcii,"  said  Laura,  "  have  the  happy  talent  of  saying  old 
things  so  well,  that  the  want  of  novelty  is  not  felt."  The  moment 
ihe  words  had  passed  her  lips,  she  perceived,  by  the  gracious 
smile  which  they  produced,  that  Mr.  Warren  had  applied  them 
to  himself;  and  the  thought  of  being  guilty  of  such  egregious 
flattery,  brought  the  colour  to  her  face.  Any  explanation,  how- 
ever, would  have  been  actual  rudeness  ;  and  while  the  conscious- 
Yiess  of  her  involuntary  duplicity  kept  lier  silent,  her  companion 
enjoyed  her  confusion;  which,  together  with  the  compliment, 
he  interpreted  in  a  way  most  satisfactory  to  his  vanity,  and  thank- 
fully repaid  with  a  torrent  of  praises  in  his  very  best  styje. 

So  little  value  did  Laura  affix  to  his  commendations,  that  she 
v/as  beginning  to  find  extreme  difficulty  in  suppressing  a  yawn, 
when  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  save  her  father  a  journey  to 
Portland  Street,  if  she  could  detail*  Mr.  AVarren  till  he  arrived.— 
Having  made  an  observation,  which  has  been  more  frequently  made 
than  profited  by,  that  most  people  prefer  talking  to  listening,  she 
engaged  her  companion  in  a  description  of  some  of  the  fashionable 
places  of  public  resort,  none  of  which  she  had  seen ;  in  which  he 
-acquitted  himself  so  rnuch  to  his  own  satisfaction,  that,  before 
vhey  separated,  he  was  convinced  that  Laura  was  one  of  the  most 
penetrating  judicious  women  of  his  acquaintance ;  and  having 
before  remarked,  that,  with  the  help  of  a  little  rouge,  and  a  fash- 
ionable riding-habit,  she  would  look  better  in  a  curricle  than  any 
woman  in  London,  he  resolved,  that  if  it  depended  on  him,  her 
residence  in  town  should  not  be  a  short  one.  In  this  laudable  re- 
solution, he  was  confirmed  by  a  consideration  of  the  insolence  and 
extravagance  of  a  certain  female,  to  whose  place  in  his  establish- 
ment he  had  some  vague  idea  of  advancing  Miss  Montre  ville,  though 
'ihere.  was  a  stateliness  about  both  her  and  her  father,  which  he 
suspected  might  somewhat  interfere  with  his  designs  in  her  favour. 
Soon  after  the  Captain  arrived,  he  took  his  leave,  having  no  new 
Intelligence  to  communicate,  nor  indeed  any  other  purpose  in  his 
visit,  except  that  which  had  been  served  by  his  interview  with 
Laura. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Laura  went  down  stairs  to  beg  that 
Miss  Pawkins  would  accompany  her  after  dinner  to  the  print-shop, 
to  inquire  what  luid  been  the  fate  of  her  picture.  More  than  one 
person,  she  \vs.s  told,  had  admired  it,  and  expressed  a  desu-e  to 
become  the  owner;  but  the  jiricehad  been  a  formidable  obstacle, 
.'ul  it  remained  unsold. 

Almost  every  evening  did   Laura,   with   Mrs.   Dawkins  or  her 
dui.ghtcv  for  an  escort,  direct  her  steps  to  the  print-shop,  and  re 
Uu-n  from  her  fruitless  walk  witJi  fainter  and  fainter  hop.  s. 


63 


CHAPTER  X. 

MoN^TAOUE  De  Courcy  had  dined  tete-a-tete  with  an  old  uncre 
from  whom  he  had  no  expectations,  and  was  returning  home  to  sup 
quietly  with  his  motlier  and  sister,  when  his  progress  was  arrested 
by  a  g-roup  occupying  the  wliole  breadth  of  the  pavement,  and  ha 
lieard  a  female  voice,  which,  though  unusually  musical,  had  in  iz 
less  of  entreaty  tlian  of  command,  say,  "  Pray,  Sir,  allow  us  to 
pass."  **  Not  till  I  have  seen  the  face  that  belohgs  to  such  a  figure,'* 
answered  one  of  a  party  of  young  men  who  were  rudely  obstructing^ 
the  passage  of  the  lady  who  had  spoken.  With  this  condition,  how- 
ever, she  seemed  not  to  intend  compliance  ;  for  she  had  doubled 
her  veil,  and  pertinaciously  resisted  the  attempts  of  her  persecutor 
to  raise  it. 

De  Courcy  had  a  rooted  antipathy  to  all  manner  of  violence  and 
oppression,  especially  when  exercised  against  the  more  defenceless 
part  of  the  creation  ;  and  he  no  sooner  ascertained  these  circum- 
stances, than,  with  one  thrust  of  his  muscular  arm,  (which,  to  say 
the  truth,  was  more  than  a  match  for  half  a  dozen  of  the  puny  fry 
of  sloth  and  intemperance,)  he  opened  a  path  for  the  lady  and  her 
companion  ;  steadily  detained  her  tormentors  till  she  made  good 
her  retreat ;  and  then,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  answer,  as  they 
best  could,  to  their  own  interrogatories  of  "  What  do  you  meani  ' 
and  "  Who  the  d — 1  are  you  ?"  he  followed  the  rescued  damsel, 
with  whose  appearance,  considering  the  place  and  tlie  hour,  he  was 
extremely  surprised. 

Her  height  which  certainly  rose  above  the  beautiful,  perhaps  even 
exceeded  the  majestic  ;  her  figure,  though  slender,  was  admirably 
proportioned,  and  had  all  the  appropriate  roundness  of  the  feminine 
form  ;  her  dress,  though  simple,  and  of  matronly  decency,  wa§  not 
unfashionable  ;  while  the  dignity  of  her  gait,  and  the  composure  of 
her  motion,  suited  well  with  the  majesty  of  her  stature  and  mien. 

While  De  Courcy  was  making  these  observations,  he  had  offer- 
ed the  lady  his  arm,  which  she  accepted,  and  his  escort  hoinc,  whicix 
she  declined,  saying,  that  she  would  take  refuge  in  a  shop,  till  a 
coach  could  be  procured.  Nor  was  he  less  attentive  to  her  com- 
panion, although  the  latter  v/as  a  little,  elderly,  vulgar-looking  wo- 
man, imperfections  which  would  have  utterly  disqualified  her  for 
the  civility  of  many  a  polite  gentleman. 

This  person  had  no  sooner  recovered  the  breath  of  which  her  sup- 
posed danger,  and  the  speed  of  her  escape  from  it  had  deprived  her, 
than  she  began,  with  extreme  volubility,  to  comment  upoft  her  ad- 
venture. "  Well,"  cried  she,  "  if  that  was  not  the  most  forwardest 
thing  ever  I  seed.  I  am  sure  I  have  comed  home  afore  now  of  an 
evening  a  matter  of  five  hunder  times,  and  never  met  with  no  suck 
thing  in  my  life  But  it*s  all  along  of  my  being  so  saving  of  your 
n-.oney  ;  for  I  might  have  took  a  coach  as  you'd  have  had  me  :  but 
r.s  no  longer  ago  nor  last  week,  as  I  comed  from  my  tea,  at  that 
y^vy  Mr.  Wjlkins's,  kter  nor  this,  and  nobody  so  much  :is  spoke 


64 

'.o  me  ;  L»ut  catch  me  penny  wise  again.     Howsoever,  it's  partUns 
your   own  doings;  for  if  you  hadn't  staid  so  long  a-looking  at  the 
pictures  in  tlic  shop,  we   shouldn't  have  met  with  them  tliere  men. 
Howsoever,  Miss  Montreville,  you  did  right  enough  not  to  let  that  | 
*hcre  jackTinapes  see  your  face,  otherwise  we  mightn't  have  got  ofF  1 
*rom  them  fcUors  to  nijht." 

The  curiosity  of  DeCourcy  thus  directed,  overcame  his  habit- 
rial  diilike  to  staring,  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  a  face,  which,  once 
•ren,  was  destined  never  to  be  forgotten.  Her  luxuriant  hair, 
'.wliich  De  Courcy  at  first  thouglit  black,  though  he  afterwards  cor- 
-•ected  this  opinion,)  vras  carelessly  divided  on  a  forehead,  whose 
.spotless  whiteness  was  varied  only  by  the  blue  of  a  rein  that  shone 
thro'igh  the  tx-ansparent  skin.  As  she  raised  her  mild  religious  dark 
grey  eyes,  their  silken  lashes  rested  on  the  well-defined  but  dehcate 
■?ye-brow  ;  or,  when  lier  glance  fell  before  the  gaze  of  admiration, 
Ihrew  a  long  shade  on  a  cheek  of  imeqiialled  beauty,  both  for  form 
and  colour.  The  contour  of  her  features  inclining  to  the  Roman, 
raiglit  perhaps  been  called  mascul'ine,  had  it  not  been  softened  to 
the  sweetest  model  of  maideii  loveliness,  by  the  delicacy  of  its  size 
and  colouring.  The  glov/iiig  scai-let  of  tlie  lips,  formed  a  contrast 
with  a  complexion  constitutionally  pale,  but  varying  every  moment ; 
Vr'hilc  round  her  easily  but  firmly  closing  mouth,  lurked  not  a  ti-ace 
of  the  sensual  or  the  vain,  but  all  was  calm  benevolence,  and  saint- 
ly purity-  In  the  contemplation  of  a  countenance,  the  perfect  sym- 
iiietry  of  which  was  its  meanest  charm,  De  Courcy,  who  was  a 
physiognomist,  suffered  the  stream  of  time,  as  well  as  that  of  Mrs. 
Davvkjns's  eloquence,  to  flow  on  v.'ithout  notice,  and  first  Ijecame 
sensible  that  he  had  profited  by  neither,  when  the  shop-boy  an- 
r>ounced  tliat  the  coach  was  at  the  door.  While  handing'  the  ladies 
.p.to  the  carriage,  De  Courcy,  again  offered  his  attendance,  which 
I. aura,  gracefully  thanking  him  for  his  attentions,  again  declined  ; 
vnd  they  drove  off  just  as  he  was  about  to  hiquire  where  they  chose 
o  be  set  down. 

Now,  v/hether  it  was  that  Laura  was  offended  at  De  Courcy's  in- 
spection of  her  face,  or  whetlicr  she  saw  any  thing  disagi-eeable  in 
.'.is  ;  whether  it  was  that  her  pride  disdained  lodgings  in  Holboni, 
jV  that  she  desired  not  to  be  recognized  by  one  who  liad  met  witii 
'jcr  in  such  a  sitviation,   certain  it  is,  that  she  chose  the  moment 
when  that  gentleman  was   placing  her  voluble  companion   in  the 
oach,  to  give  tlie  coacliman  her  directions,  in  sounds  that  escaped 
lie  cars  of  De  Courcy.     As  he  had  no  means  of  remedying  this 
..isfoitune,  he  walked  home,   and  philosophically  endeavoured  to 
-'.)rget  it  in  a  game  at  chess  with  his  mother.     The  fidelity  of  a  his- 
orian,  however,   obliges  us  to  confess,  that  he  this  evening  played 
11  a  manner  that  would  have  disgraced  a  school-boy.     After  mista- 
king liis  antagonist's  men  for  his  own,  playing  into  check,  throwing 
'.vay  his  pieces,  and  making  false  moves,  he  answered  his  niothei-'s 
-juestlun  of '•' Montague,  what  are  you  doing?"  by  pushing  back 
ills  chuir,  uid  exclaiming,  *'  Motiicr,  you  never  beheld  such  a  V/c- 
man."  '  .        ' 


65 

"  Woman!'*  repeated  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  settlingf  her  specucki. 
and  looking  him  full  ia  the  face.  "  Woman !''  said  his  sister,  la)  - 
ing-  down  iiruyerc,  "  who  is  she  ?" 

"  1  know  not,"  answered  De  Courcy,  "  but  had  Lavater  seen  her, 
he  could  scarcely  have  believed  her  human.'* 

**  Wliat  is  her  name  ?  * 

«  Tlie  woman  who  attended  her  called  her  MontreviUe."' 

**  Where  did  you  meet  her  ?" 

"  In  the  street." 

"  In  the  street !"  cried  Harriet,  laughing,  "  Oh,  Montague,  that 
is  not  half  sentimental  enough  for  you.  You  should  have  found 
her  all  in  a  shady  bower,  playing  on  a  harp  that  came  there  nobody 
knows  how;  or,  all  elegant' in  India  muslin,  dandling  a  beggar's, 
brat  in  a  dirty  cottage.     But  let  us  hear  the  whole  adventure." 

"  I  iiave  already  told  you  all  I  know,"  answered  De  Courcy.-- 
"  Now,  Madam,  will  vou  give  me  my  revenge  ?"  "  No,  no,"  said 
Mrs.  De  Courcy,  "  I  will  play  no  more  ;  I  should  have  no  glory  m 
conquering  such  a  defenceless  enemy."  "  Well  then,"  said  Mon- 
tague, good-humourcdly,  "  give  me  leave  to  read  to  you,  for  I 
would  rather  amuse  you  and  Harriet  in  any  other  way  than  by  sit* 
ting  quietly  to  be  laughed  at. 

After  the  ladies  had  retired  for  the  night,  De  Courcy  meditated 
for  full  five  minutes  on  the  descent  from  Laura  Montreville's  fore- 
head to  her  nose,  and  bestowed  a  proportionable  degree  of  consid- 
eration upon  other  important  lines  in  her  physiognomy ;  but  it  must 
be  confessed,  that  by  the  time  he  arrived  at  tlie  dimple  in  her  left 
cheek,  he  had  forgotten  both  Lavater  and  his  opinions,  and  that  his 
recollection  of  her  mouth  was  somewhat  confused  by  that  of  her 
parting  smile,  which  lie  more  than  once  declared  aloud  to  himself 
was  "  heavenly."  We  are  credibly  informed,  that  he  repeated  the 
same  expression  three  times  in  his  sleep  ;  and  whether  it  was  that 
his  dreams  reminded  him  of  Mrs.  Dawkins  s  eloquence,  or  whether 
his  memory  w^as  refreshed  by  his  slumbers,  he  had  not  been  long 
awake  before' he  recollected,  that  he  had  heard  that  lady  mention  a 
Mr  Wilkins,  and  hint  that  he  kept  a  print-shop.  By  a  proper  ap- 
plication to  tlie  London  directory,  he  easily  discovered  the-  print- 
seller's  abode,  and  thither  he  that  very  day  repaired. 

Mr.  Wilkins  was  not  in  the  shop  wlien  De  Courcy  entered  it, 
but  the  shop-boy  said  his  master  would  be  there  in  a  minute. 
This  minute  appearing  to  De  Courcy  of  unusual  length,  he,  to  while 
it  away,  began  to  examine  the  prints  which  hung  round.  His  eye 
was  presently  attracted  by  the  only  oil  picture  in  the  shop  ;  and 
his  attention  was  fixed  by  observing,  that  it  presented  a  striking  re- 
semblance of  his  old  school-fellow  HargrVive.  He  turned  to  make 
some  inquiry  of  the  shop-boy,  when  Mr.  Wilkins  came  in,  and  his  io- 
teref.t  reverted  to  a  different  object.  The  question,  however,  which 
he  had  tome  to  ask,  and  which  to  ask  would  have  three  minutes  be- 
fo i-e  appeared  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  now  faltered  onlijs 
tongue ;  and  it  was  not  without  something  like  hesitation,  tliat 
he  v-r^juirsd  ^vhetlier,  Mr.  Welkins  knew  ?.  Miss  MoutreviUe.    Uc- 

Y2 


60  . 

ii-ous  to  oblige  a  person  of  Dc  Com-cy's  appearance,  Wuklns  ir,i 
Mediately  related  all  that  he  knew  of  I^aura,  either  from  his  otr  n 
oliservalion,  or  from  the  report  of  her  loquacious  landlady ;  and 
perceiving  that  he  was  listened  to  with  attention,  he  preceded  fur- 
tlier  td  detail  his  conjectures.  "  This  picture  is  painted  by  her," 
said  he,  "  andl  i-ather  think  the  old  Cuptain  can't  be  very  rich, 
she  seeme  d  so  anxious  to  have  it  sold."  De  Courcy  again  turned  to 
llie  picture,  which  he  had  before  examined,  and  on  this  second  in- 
spection, was  so  fortunate  as  to  discover  that  it  bore  the  stamp  of 
great  genius, — an  opinion  in  wliich  we  believe,  he  would  have  been 
joined  by  any  man  of  four-and-twenty  who  had  seen  the  artist. 
'•  So,"  thought  he,  "  this  lovely  crea'ture's  genius  is  equal  to  her 
Lieauty, and  her  worth  perhaps  surpasses  both;  for  she  has  the 
courage  to  rise  superior  to  the  silly  customs  of  the  world,  and  can 
dare  to  be  useful  to  herself  and  others.  Iknew  by  the  noble  arch- 
ing of  her  forehead,  that  she  was  a'oove  all  vulgar  prejudices  :" 
and  he  admired  Laura  tlie  more  for  being  a  favourable  instance  of 
his  own  penetration, — a  feeling  so  natura'l,  that  it  lessens  even  our 
eiimity  to  the  w^icked,  vy-hen  we  ourselves  haVe  predicted  their  > 
vices.  It  must  be  owned,  that  De  Courcy  was  a  little  hasty  in  his 
judgmentcfLr.ura's  worth;  but  the  sight  of  such  a  face  as  her.s, 
gives  gi-eat  speed  to  a  young  man's  decision  tipon  femak  character. 
He  instantly  purchased  the  picture,  and  recollecting  that  it  is  high- 
ly proper  to  patronize  geidus  and  industry,  he  desired  ISIr.  Wilkins 
to  beg  tliJ.t  a  companion  might  bepainted.  He  then  returned  home, 
leaving  orders  that  his  purchase  should  follow  him  immediately. 
*  Tiiough  nature,  a  private  eduation,  and  studious  habits,  made 
De  Courcy  rather  reserved  to  strangers,  he  was,  in  his  domestic 
circle,  one  of  the  most  communicative  persons  in  the  world;  and 
the  moment  he  saw  his  mother,  he  began  to  inform  her  of  the  dis- 
coveries he  had  made  that  inorning".  *'  Montreville  i"  said  !Mrs. 
')e  Courcy,  when  he  had  ended,  "  can  that  be  William  Montreville 

■lo  was  in  the regiment  when  your  father  was  the  major  of  it?" 

Most  likely  he  is,"  said  Montague,  eagerly.  *'  Many  a  time  did 
he  hold  ycu  upon  his  horse,  and  many  a  paper-kite  did  he  make 
for  you."  "  It  must  be  the  same,"  said  Montague,  *'  the  name  ia 
not  a  common  one  ;  it  certainly  must  be  the  same."  "  I  can  hard- 
ly believe  it,"  said  IMrs.  De  Courcy ;  "  William  Montreville  mur- 
ri/ed  that  strange  imprudent  woman,  lady  Harriet  Bircham.  Poor 
Montreville! — he  deserved  a  better  wife."  "It  cannot  be  he," 
said  De  Courcy,  sorrovrfully ;  "  no  such  woman  could  be  the  mo- 
Iki-  of  Miss  Monlrcville."'  "  He  settled  in  Scotland  immediately 
after  Ills  m.ajw.ge,''  continued  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  "and  since  tliat 
time  I  have  never  heard  of  him.''  "It  is  the  same  then,"  said 
Montague,  iiis  countenance  lightening  with  pleasure,  '*  lor  Miss 
Montreville  is  a  ScotcJi  woman.  1  remember  his  kindness.  I 
think  I  almost  recollect  his  face.  He  used  to  set  me  on  hi^  knee 
and  sing  to  me  ;  and  when  he  sung  the  Babes  in  the  Wood,  1  pre- 
tended to  go  to  sleep  in  his  bosom,  for  I  thought  it  not  manly  to 
'-■ry  ;  btit  v>  hen  I  look'^d  up,  I  saw  the  tears  standing  in  his  own 
.es.    Jwillgoaiul  h':<c  my  old  friend  this  very  hour  "    '•  Vov. 


G7 

have  forgotten,'  said  Mrs.  Do  Courcy,  "  tliat  you  promised  to  c<; . 
cort  Harriet  to  the  park,  and  she  will  be  disappointed  if  you  cu 
gage  yourself  elsewhere."  De  Courcy,  who  would  have  postpon- 
ed any  personal  gratification  rather  than  disappoint  the  meanest 
servant  in  his  household,  instantly  agreed  to  defer  his  visit ;  and 
as  it  had  never  occuned  to  him  that  the  claims  of  relationship 
■were  incompatible  with  those  of  politeness,  he  did  not  once  during 
their  walk  insinuate  to  his  sister  that  he  would  have  preferred  ano- 
ther engagement 

Never  had  he,  either  as  a  physiognomist  or  as  a  man,  admired 
any  woman  so  much  as  he  did  Laura;  yet  her  charms  were  no  lon- 
ger his  only,  or  oven  his  chief,  magnet  of  attraction  towards  the 
Montrevillcs.  Never  before  had  no  assemblage  of  features  pos- 
sessed such  power  over  him,  but  De  Courcy 's  was  not  a  heart  on 
which  mere  beauty  could  make  any  very  permanent  impression  ; 
and,  to  the  eternal  disgrace  of  his  gallantry^  it  must  be  confessed, 
that  he  scarcely  longed  more  for  a  second  interview  with  Laura, 
than  he  did  for  an  opportunity  of  paying  some  grateful  civilities  to 
the  man  who,  twenty  years  before,  had  good-naturedly  forgone 
the  society  of  his  equals  in  age,  to  sing  ballads  and  make  paper- 
kites  for  little  Montague.  Whatever  member  of  the  family  occu- 
pied most  of  his  thoughts,  certain  it  is,  that  he  spoke  much  more 
that  evening  of  Captain  Monti'cville  than  of  his  daugliter,  until 
tiie  arrival  of  the  painting  afforded  him  occasion  to  enlarge  on  hei' 
genius,  industry,  and  freedom  from  vulgar  prejudice.  On  these 
he  continued  to  descant,  till  Mrs.  De  Courcy  smiled,  and  Harriet 
laughed  outright  ;  a  liberty  at  which  Montague  testified  liis  dis- 
pleasure, by  carefully  avoiding  the  subject  for  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing. 

Meanwhile  the  ungrateful  Laura  had  never,  from  the  hour  in 
which  they  met,  bestowed  one  thought  upon  her  champion.  The 
blackness  of  his  eyes,  and  the  whiteness  of  his  teeth,  h.d  entirely 
escaped  her  observation  ;  and,  even  if  she  had  been  asked,  wlietli- 
er  he  was  tall  or  short,  slie  could  scarcely  have  given  a  satisfacto- 
ry reply.  For  tliis  extraordinary  stftpidity,  the  only  excuse  is, 
that  her  heart  was  already  occupied,  the  reader  knows  how,  and 
that  her  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  an  intention  which  her  father 
had  mentioned,  of  borrowing  money  upon  his  half-pay. 

Though  Laura  had  never  knovvn  affluence,  she  was  equally  .1 
stranger  to  all  the  shames,  the  distresses  and  em.barrassments  of 
a  debtor  ;  and  the  thoughts  of  borrowing  what  she  could  not  hope 
by  any  economy  to  repay,  gave  to  her  upright  mind  tlie  most  cut- 
ting uneasiness.  But  no  resource  remained  ;  for,  even  if  Captain 
Montreville  could  have  quitted  London  within  the  hour,  ht  had 
not  the  means  of  defraying  the  expense  of  the  journey.  "SVar- 
i-en's  pron.ises  had  liitherto  produced  nothing  but  hope,  and  there 
was  no  immediate  prospect  that  the  payment  of  tlie  unnuity  would 
vel'.eve  the  difficulty. 

Laura  tvirned  a  despairing  wish  towards  her  pictiire,  lamenting. 
..-;'.t :.]-';  had  ever  foriried  hvr  pres'amptuous  scheme,  aud  huting 


68 

herself  for  having,  by  her  presence  increased  the  perplexities  of 
her  father.  She  prevailed  on  him,  however,  to  defer  borrowing  the 
money  till  the  following  day  ;  and  once  more,  accompanied  by  Ju- 
lia, bent  her  almost  hopeless  steps  towards  the  print-shop. 

Silent  and  melancholy  she  passed  on,  equally  regardless  of  the 
admiration  which  she  occasionally  extorted  and  of  the  animadver- 
sions, called  forth  by  the  appearance  of  so  elegant  a  woman  on 
foot,  in  the  streets  of  the  city.  As  she  entered  the  shop,  she  cast 
a  half-despairing  look  towards  the  place  where  her  picture  had 
hung,  and  her  heart  leapt  when  she  perceived  that  it  was  gone. 
**  Well,  Ma'am,"  said  Wilkins,  approaching  her,  "  it  is  sold  at 
last,  and  here  is  the  money,"  and  he  put  into  her  hands  by  {:\r  the 
largest  sum  they  had  ever  contained.  "  You  may  have  as  much 
more  whenever  you  please,"  continued  he,  "  for  the  gentleman 
who  bought  it  wants  a  companion  painted." 

Laura  spoke  not, — she  had  not  indeed  the  power  to  speak  ; — but 
she  raised  her  eyes  with  a  look  that  intelligibly,  said,  "  Blessed  Fa- 
ther! thy  tender  mercies  are  over  all  thy  works."  Recollecting  her- 
self, she  thanked  Wilkins,  liberally  rewarded  him  for  his  trouble, 
and  then  taking  her  companion  by  the  arm,  she  hastened  home- 
wards. 

The  sight  of  Laura's  wealth  powerfully  affected  the  mind  of 
Miss  Dawkins,  and  she  formed  an  immediate  resolution  to  grow 
rich  by  similar  means.  One  little  objection  to  this  scheme  occur- 
red to  her,  namely,  that  she  had  learnt  to  draw  only  flowers,  and 
that  even  this  humble  branch  of  the  art  she  had  discontinued  since 
she  Iqft  school.  But  she  thought  that  a  little  practice  woidd  re- 
pair what  she  had  lost,  and  that  though  perhaps  flowers  might  not 
be  quite  so  productive  as  historical  pieces,  she  might  better  her 
fortune  by  her  works  ;  at  the  least,  they  would  famish  her  with 
clothes  and  pocket-money.  Upon  this  judicious  plan,  she  har- 
angued with  great  volubility  to  Laura,  wlio,  buried  in  her  own  re- 
flections, \^alked  silently  on,  unconscious  even  of  the  presence  of 
her  loquacious  companion.  As  she  approached  her  home,  .she  be- 
gan to  frame  a  little  speech,  with  which  she  meant  to  present  her 
treasure  to  her  father  ;  and,  on  entering  the  house,  she  flev/  with 
a  beating  heart  to  find  him.  She  laid  her  wealth  upon  his  knee. 
"  My  dearest  father,'*  she  began,  "  the  picture" — and  she  fell  up- 
on his  neck  and  biu-st  into  tears.  Sympathetic  tears  stood  in  the 
eyes  of  Montreville.  He  had  been  surprised  at  the  stoicism  with 
which  his  daughter  appeared  to  him  to  support  her  disappoint- 
ment, and  he  was  not  prepared  to  expect  from  her  so  much  sensi- 
bility to  success.  But  though  Laura  had  learnt  from  frequent  ex- 
perience, how  to  check  the  feelings  of  disappointment,  to  pleasure 
S'-ich  as  she  now  felt  she  was  new,  and  she  could  not  control  its 
emotions.  So  far  was  she,  however,  from  thinking  tliat  sensibility 
was  bestowed  merely  for  an  ornament,  (an  opinion  which  many 
fair  ladies  appear  to  entertain,)  that  the  expression  of  it  was  always 
with  her  an  occasion  of  shame.  Unable  at  this  moment  to  contain 
ii'^rsclf;  ske  burst  trom  her  father's  embrace,  and  hiding  iHTSslfin 


ISl"^ 


69 

iici  ciiaiviuOi-,  poured  forUi  a  fervent  thanksgiving'  to  ILm  uli©, 
''  feedeth  the  ravens  when  they  cry  to  him." 

"This  money  is  yours  my  love,"  said  Captain  Montreville  to  her 
Mheu  she  retun^d  to  the  parlour.  "I  cannot  hear  to  rob  you  of 
it.  Take  it,  and  you  can.  supply  me  when  I  am  in  want  of  it." — 
The  face  and  neck  of  Laura  flushed  crimson.  Her  whole  soul  re- 
volted at  the  thoujrht  of  her  father's  feeling  himself  a  pensioner 
on  her  bounty.  "No  indeed,  Sir,"  she  replied  with  energy-,  "iti.s 
yours — it  always  was  intended  for  you.  But  for  you,  I  could  ne- 
ver have  acquired  it."  "  I  will  not  disappoint  your  generosity,  my 
dearest,"  said  Montreville,  "part  I  will  receive  from  you,  but  the 
rest  you  mu.st  keep.  I  know  you  must  have  many  little  wants." — 
No,  Papa,-**  said  Laura,  "  so  liberal  has  your  kindness  been  to 
me,  that  I  cannot  at  this  moment  name  a  single  want."  "  Wishe.s, 
then,  you  surely  hive,"  said  the  Captain,  still  pressing  the  money 
upon  her  ;  "  and  let  the  fir:it fruits  of  your  industry  supply  them." 
"  I  have  no  wishes, '  said  Laura ;  "none  at  least  which  money  can 
gratify : — and  when  I  have,"  added  she,  with  an  affectionate 
smilc^  "let  their  gi*atiticationcome  from  you,  that  its  pleasure  may 
be  doubled  to  me.' 

No  creature  could  less  value  money  for  its  own  sake  than  did 
Laura.  AUher  wealth,  the  fru>t  of  so  much  labour  and  anxiety, 
v/ouid  not  have  purchassed  the  attire  of  a  fashionable  lady 
for  one  evening.  She,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  wander  in  hap- 
py freedom  among  her  native  hills,  was  imprisoned  amidst  the 
ijmoke  and  dust  of  a  city.  Without  a  companion,  almost  without 
an  acquaintance  to  invigorate  her  spirits  for  th.e  task,  it  was  hci^ 
province  to  revive  the  fainting  hopes,  and  beguile  the  tedium  cf 
her  father,  who  was  depressed  by  disappointment  in  his  pursuits, 
and  disconcerted  by  the  absence  of  his  accustomed  en^;ploynient£. 
She  was  at  a  distance  from  the  object,  not  only  of  a  tender  affec- 
tion, but  of  a  romantic  passion, — a  passion,  ardent  in  proportion 
as  its  object  was  indebted  to  her  imagination  for  his  powci\  Scarce 
three  months  had  elapsed  since  the  depravity  of  this  idolized  being 
ivmI  burst  on  her  in  thunder,  the  thought  of  it  was  still  dagrrersto 
her  heart,  and  it  was  very  doubtful  whether  he  ever  could  give  such 
proofs  of  reformation  as  v.'ould  make  it  safe  for  her  to  restore  him 
to  his  place  in  her  regard.  Yet  be  it  known  to  all  who,  from  simi- 
lar circumstances,  feel  entitled  to  fancy  themselves  miserable,  and 
thus  (if  they  live  with  bemgs  of  common  humanity)  make  others 
really  so,  that  no  woman  ever  passed  an  evening  in  more  heartfelt 
content,  than  Laura  did  that  which  our  history  is  nov/  recording. 
She,  did,  indeed,  possess  that  v/hich,  next  to  the  overdowings  of 
a  pious  heart, confers  the  purest  happiness  on  this  side  Heaven. 
She  felt  that  she  was  useful.  Nay,  in  one  lespect  the  conscioush 
ness  of  a  succcsful  discharge  of  duty  has  the  advantage  over  the 
fervours  of  devotion ;  for  Providence,  wise  in  its  bounty,  had  de- 
creed, that  while  these  foretastes  of  heavenly  rapture  are  transient 
lest  their  delights  should  detach  us  from  the  business  of  life,  we 
arc  invited  to  a  religious  practice  by  the  permanence  of  its  joys. 


^0 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Captain  Mdntrevii-le  and  his  daughter  were  eng'agedin  a 
friendly  contest  on  the  subject  of  a  companion  fertile  picture,  when 
De  Courcy  made  his  visit.     Thoug'h,as  he  entered  the  room,  some- 
thing* unfashionable  like  a  blush  visited  his  face,  his  manner  was 
iree  from  rustic  embarrassment      "  I  believe,**  said  he,  advancing' 
towards  Captain  Montreville,  "  I  must  apologize  for  the  intrusion 
of  a  stranger."    My  person  must  have  outgrown  your  recollection. 
My  name,  I  hope,  has  been  more  fortunate.     It  is  De  Courcy.'* 
"The  son  I  presume  of  Major  De  Courcy,"  said  Montreville, 
cordially  extending  hi.s  hand  to   him.  **yes,"  replied   Montague, 
heartily  takmgthe  offered  hand;  **  the  same  whose  childhood  was 
indebted  to  you  for  so  many  of  its   pleasures."     "  My  old  friend 
Montague !"  cried  the  Captain,   "  though  your  present  form  is  new 
to  me,  I  remember  my  lovely  little  noble-spirited  play -fellow  with 
an  interest  which  I  have  never  felt  in  any  other  child  except  this 
girl."     "  And  who  knows,"    said  De  Courcy,  turning  to  Laura  with 
a  smile,  "  who  knows  what  cause    1  may  find  to   rue  that  Miss 
Montreville  is  past  the  age  v/hen  I  might  have  repaid  her  father's 
kindness  by  assiduities  to  her  doll  r'    "  Tliat  return,*'  said  Laura, 
colouring,  as  she  recollected  her  late  champion,  **  would  not  have 
been  quite  so  arduous  as  the  one  you  have  already  made.     I  hope 
you  had  no  further  trouble  with  those  rude  people?"     "  No,  Ma- 
dam," answered  De  Coiu-cy,"  "  nor  did  I  expect  it ;  the  spirits  that 
are  so  insolent  where  they  dare,  are  submissive  enough  where  they 
must."     Laura  now  explained  to  her  father  her  obligation  to  De 
Courcy ;  and  the  Captain  having  thanked  liim  for  liis  interference, 
the  conversation  took  a  general  turn. 

Elated  as  he  was  with  the  successful  industry  and  genius  of  his 
child,  and  pleased  with  the  attentions  of  the  son  of  his  friend,  the 
spirits  of  Monti-eville  rose  higher  than  they  had  ever  done  since  his 
arrival  in  London.  Won  by  the  happy  mixture  of  familiarity  and 
respect,  of  spirit  and  gentleness,  which  distinguished  the  manners 
of  De  Courcy,  the  captain  became  cheerful,  and  Laura  almost  talk- 
ative; the  conversation  rose  frona  easy  to  animated,  from  animated 
to  gay;  and  two  hours  had  passed  before  any  of  the  party  was  aware 
that  one-fourth  of  that  time  was  gone.  Laura's  general  reserve  with 
strangers  seemed  to  have  forsaken  her  while  she  conversed  with 
De  Courcy.  But  De  Covu'cy  was  not  a  stranger.  By  character  she 
knew  him  welL  Hargrave  had  mentioned  to  her  his  intimacy  with 
De  Courcy.  Nay,  De  Courcy  had,  at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  saved 
the  lif  of  Hargrave.  Laura  had  heard  her  lover  dwell  with  the 
eloquence  of  gratitude  upon  the  courage,  the  presence  of  mind  with, 
whicli  (while  others  confounded  by  his  danger,  or  fearing  for  their 
6wn  safety,  left  him  to  perish  wi  hout  aid),  De  Courcy  had  seized 
a  fisher's  net,  and  binding  one  end  of  it  to  a  tree,  the  other  to  his  bo- 
dy, had  plunged  into  the  water,  and  intercepted  Hjurgraye,  ju.st  ^s 


71 

Hie  gtream  was  huffyiag  him  to  the  brink  of  a  ti'cmcndous  fiill. 
"  All  struggle  was  in  vain,"  had  Hargrave  said  to  the  breathless 
Laura;  "  but  for  that  noble  fellow,  that  minute  would  have  been  my 
last,  and  I  should  have  died  without  awakening  this  interest  so  dear 
to  my  heart."  "  I  wish  I  could  sec  this  De  Courcy,"  had  Laur^ 
fervently  excljumed.  "  Heaven  forbid !"  had  been  the  hasty  reply, 
"  for  your  habits — your  pursuits— your  sentiments  are  so  smiilar, 
that  he  would  gain  without  labour,  perhaps  without  a  wish,  the 
heart  that  has  cost  me  such  anxious  toil."  A  recollection  of  this 
dialogue  stole  into  the  mind  of  Laura,  as  De  Courcy  was  expressing 
an  opinion  which,  though  not  a  common  one,  coincided  exactly  with 
her  own.  For  a  moment  she  was  absent  and  thoughtful ;  but  De 
'<^ourcy  continued  the  conversation,  and  she  resumed  her  gaiety. 

When  unwillingly  at  last  he  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Captain  Mon- 
treville  detained  him  while  he  made  some  friendly  inquiries  into  the 
history  of  the  family  for  the  last  twenty  years.  As  the  questions  of 
the  Captain,  however,  were  not  impertinently  minute,  nor  the  ans- 
wers of  De  Courcy  very  copious,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  supply 
what  was  wanting  in  the  narrative. 

Major  De  Courcy  was  the  representative  of  a  family  which  could 
trace  its  descent  from  the  times  of  the  Conqueror, — an  advantage 
wliich  they  valued  above  the  hereditary  possessions  of  their  fathers  ; 
and  if  an  advantage  ought  to  be  estimated  by  its  durabillity,  they 
were  in  the  right ;  for  the  former,  of  necessity,  was  improved  by 
time,  the  latter  seemed  tending  towards  decline.  Frederick  De 
Courcy  was  suffered  to  follow  his  inclinations  in  entering  the  army ; 
because  that  was  the  profession  most  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  an 
ancient  house.  That  it  was  of  all  professions  the  least  likely  to 
improve  his  fortune  was  a  consideration  equally  despispd  by  his  fa- 
ther and  himself  When  be  attained  hi»  seventeenth  year,  a  com- 
mission was  piu-chased  for  him.  Stored  with  counsels  sufficient 
if  he  followed  them,  to  conduct  him  to  wisdom  and  happiness,  and 
with  money  sufficient  to  make  these  counsels  of  no  avail,  he  set  out 
from  his  paternal  home  to  join  his  regiment.  Thus  was  De  Courcy, 
in  his  dangerous  passage  fi-om  youth  to  manhood,  committed  to  the 
guidance  of  example,  and  the  discretion  belonging  to  his  years  ;  for- 
tified, indeed,  by  the  injunctions  of  his  parents,  awd  his  own  resolu- 
tions, never  to  disgrace  his  descent  This  i  ulwark,  he  soon  found, 
was  too  weak  to  resist  the  number  and  variety  of  the  weapons 
which  attacked  him  The  shafts  of  ridicule  assailed  him  ;  his  own 
passions  took  up  arms  ;  his  pride  itself  turned  against  him.  Una- 
ble to  resist  with  vigo  r,  he  ceased  to  resist  at  all ;  and  was  hurried 
into  every  folly  in  which  his  companions  wished  for  the  assistance 
of  his  purse,  or  the  countenance  of  his  example. 

His  t^ii'  :i-*a  liberal  allowance  was  soon  insufficicHt  to  supply 
hi^  extravag;nice.  He  contracted  debts.  After  severe  but  well- 
mmted  reproof,  his  father  paid  them  ;  and  De  Courcy  promised 
amendment.  A  whole  week  of  strict  sobriety  ensued ;  and  the 
voi'ng  soldier  was  convinced  that  his  resolution  was  immutable. 
JS.nd  so  he  v.oul'.l  probably  have  found  it,  if  now,  for  the  firist  time. 


Mnte  man  was  made,  temptation  hud  become  weaker   by  vicioi '. 
or  virtue  strong-er  by  defeat.     But  thou;:^h   he  had  tasteol  the  g-lit 

tcring'  baitof  tbily,  and  though  he  at  tiines  confessed  its  insipidity. 
the  same  hire  again  prevailed,  and  De  Courcy  was  again  entang- 
led in  pecimi:uy  embarrassments.  ^V'hat  was  to  be  done  ?  His 
father  had  declared  his  irrevocable  detei-mination  no  fui  ther  to 
injure  the  interests  of  his  younger  children  by  supphing  the  pro- 
digality of  tlic  eldest.  By  the  advice  of  a  veteran  in  profusion, 
De  Courcy  had  recourse  to  Jews.  As  it  was  in  his  father's  powei* 
to  disinherit  liim,  it  was  necessary  to  conceal  these  U-ansactions  ; 
and  the  high  spirit  of  Frederick  was  compelled  to  submit  to  all 
tlie  evasions,  embari-assments,  and  wretchedness  tliat  attend  a 
clandestine  course  of  action. 

Often  did  he  illustrate  the  trite  observation  that  no  life  is  more 
I'emote  from  happiness  than  a  life  of  pleasure.  The  reward  of  all 
his  labour  was  satiety  ;  the  wages  of  all  his  self-reproaches  were 
the  applauses  of  the  thoughtless  for  his  spirit ;  the  lamentations 
.of  the  wise,  that  an  honourable  mind  should  be  so  perverted.  In 
his  twenty-second  year,  his  father's  death  left  him  at  liberty  to  pay 
his  old  debts,  and  to  contract  new.  That  which  has  preserved 
the  virtue  of  many  young  men,  prevented  the  total  ruin  of  De 
Courcy.  He  became  attached  to  a  virtuous  woman;  and,  influ- 
enced m.uch  by  inclination,  more  by  the  wishes  of  her  friends,  she 
married  hiin. 

ISIrs.  De  Courcy  brought  no  dower  except  the  ])eauty  whicii 
had  captivated  her  husband,  tlie  sweetness  which  prolonged  her 
pov/er,  and  the  good  sense  which  made  that  power  useful.  She 
^'-herefore  did  not  thin.k  herself  entitled  to  remonstrate  very  warm- 

\  on  the  negligence  that  appeared  in  the  conduct  of  her  husband's 

i Fairs  ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  she  became  a  mother  that  she 
judged  it  proper  to  hiterfere.  Her  gentle  remonstrances,  howe- 
\cv,  produced  little  eft'ect  beyond  promises  and  vague  resolutions, 
that  at  some  "  convenient  seaso7i'*  the  Major  would  examine  into 
the  real  state  of  his  fortune. 

Accident   at  last   befriended  her  endeavovirs.     Soon  after  the 

/iilh  of  her  second  child  (a  daughter,)  a  demand  was  made  on  De 
Courcy  for  a  debt  which  lie  had  not  the  means  of  discbarg-ing.  He 
could  not  apply  to  the  Jevv*;  foff  he  had  solemnly  pledged  his  word 
to  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  that  he  would  never  more  huve  recourse  to 
that  ruinous  expedient.  He  was  discussing  with  his  wife  the  pos- 
•^.ibility  of  procuring  the  money  by  a  new  mortgage,  v.hile  Mon- 

;  -;no,  then  a  child  of  fom*  years   old,   was  playing  in  the  room. — 

I'lck  by  tlie  melancholy  tone  of  his  mother's  voice,  the  child  f  'i-- 

)ok  his  play,  and  taking  hold  of  her  gown,  looked  anxiously  from 

le  mournful  face  to  the  other,     "  I  am  as  averse  to  it  as  you  can 

j-,  my  dear,"  said  the  Major,  "  but  there  is  no  other  way  of  i-aisinn: 

the  money."     "  Wait  till  I  am  a  man  Papa,"  said  the  child  ;  "  aii"d 

then  Betty  s.:ys,  I  sh.ill  have  a  good  two   thousand  pounds  a-year, 

■A  I  will  give  it  all  to  you.     A.  d  here,"  added  he,   scarclung  his 

il.'pock'.-',  "  herds  my  pretty  shilHng  that  Captain  MouLrcville 


73 

gave  me  ;  take  k,  and  don't  look  sorry  any  more.'''  Mrs.  De  Coui'cy 
passionately  loved  tliis  cliild.  Overcome  by  the  feeling-  of  the  mo- 
ment, she  elapsed  him  in  her  arms.  "My  poor  wronged  child  '.'* 
she  exclaimed,  and  burst  into  tears. 

These  were  the  first  words  of  bitterness  which  Major  De  Cour- 
cy  had  cA'er  heard  from  her  lips ;  and  overcome  by  tJiem,  and  by 
her  tears,  he  gave  her  a  hasty  promise,  tliat  he  would,  that  ^  ery 
hour,  begin  the  examination  of  his  ailairs.  Sensible  of  her  ad- 
vantage, she  peiinitted  not  his  purpose  to  slumber,  but  persuaded 
him  to  a  full  inquiry  into  the  extent  of  his  debts  ;  and  in  order  to 
remove  him  from  f  ture  temptation,  she  prevailed  on  him  to  sell 
his  commission,  and  reside  at  his  paternal  Norwood. 

After  selling  so  much  of  his  estate  as  to  clear  the  remainder  front 
all  incumbrance,  he  found  his  income  diminished  to  little  more 
than  a  third  of  its  original  extent.  His  family  pride  reviving  at  the 
sight  of  the  halls  of  his  fathers,  and  a  better  affection  awakening 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  descendants  of  tliose  whom  his  ances- 
tors had  protected,  he  determined  to  guard  against  the  possibility 
of  Norwood  and  its  tenants  being  transferred  to  strangers,  and  en* 
tailed  the  remains  of  liis  property  on  Montague  De  Coui'cy,  in  tjie 
strictest  forms  of  English  law.  For  Mrs.  De  Courcy  he  made  but 
a  slender  provision.  For  his  daughter  he  made  none:  but  he  de- 
termined to  save  from  his  income  a  sum  sufficient  to  supply  this 
deficiency.  He  was  still  a  young  man,  and  never  thought  of  doubt- 
ing whether  he  might  live  long  enough  to  accomplish  his  design,  or 
whether  the  man  who  had  found  an  income  of  2000/.  a^}ear  too 
small  for  his  necessities,  might  be  able  to  make  savings  from  one 
of  800/.  Ii\  spite  of  the  soberness  of  the  establishment,  which  dur- 
ing the  novelty  of  his  reform  he  alloweii  Mrs.  De.  Courcy  to  ar- 
range, he  continued  to  find  uses  for  all  the  money  he  coukl  com- 
mand. His  fields  wanted  inclosures  ;  his  house  needed  repairs ; 
his  son's  education  was  an  increasing  expense  ;  and  be  died  while 
Montague  was  yet  a  boy,  w^ithout  having  realised  any  part  of  his 
plans  in  favour  of  his  daughter. 

He  left  the  higJiest  testimony  to  tlie  understanding  and  worth 
of  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  by  making  her  tlie  sole  guardian  of  his  chil- 
di'en  ;  and  the  steady  rectitude  and  propriety  of  her  conduct  jus- 
tified his  confidence.  Aware  of  the  radical  defect  of  every  mode 
of  education  tliat  neglects  or  severs  the  domestic  tie,  yet  convinc- 
ed that  tlie  house  where  he  was  master,  and  the  dependents  whoia 
he  could  command,  were  dtiugerous  scenes  and  companions  for  a 
youth  ol  31ontague's  spirit,  she  committed  him  to  the  ciax-  of  a  cler- 
gyman, whose  residence  wasafewiniiesdjstanti'rcm  Norwood,  and 
who  also  took  charge  of  four  oiher  boys  of  abovit  tlie  same  age. 
This  gentleman  was  admii-ubly  fitted  for  his  trust;  f«>r  lie  hud  a 

.Kivaled  understandmir,  an  aflectionate  heart,  souv.d  piet}-,  and  a 
cairn  but  Jintiexi.bie  temper.  Add  to  w iiich,  lie  had  ti*avellc(!,  and, 
in  hii  youth,  associated  much  witli.men  of  rank,  and  more  with 
men  of  talents  ;  tjuougii,  ^ince  he  had  become  a  pasior,  tJie  range 
of  Jiis  moral  observation  iiad  been  narrowed  to  the  hearts  of  ufev 


74 

simple  villages,  which  were  open  to  him  as  to  their  fatlief  and 
their  friend.  The  bo}  s  studied  and  played  tog-ether  ;  but  they 
had  each  a  separate  apartment ;  for  Mr.  Wentworth  had  liimself 
y>een  educated  at  a  public  school,  and  never  recollected  without 
shuddering-,  the  hour  when  his  youthful  modesty  first  had  shrunk 
from  sharing  his  bed  with  a  stranger,  and  when  the  prayer  for  his 
parents,  which  he  was  mingling  with  liis  tears,  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  jokes  of  a  little  rabble. 

Every  Saturday  did  Montague  bend  his  joyful  course  home- 
wards, regardless  of  summer's  heat  or  winter  storms.  Every  Sun- 
day did  his  mother  spend  in  mixing  the  lessons  of  piety  with  the 
endearments  of  love  ;  in  striving  to  connect  the  idea  of  a  super- 
intending God  with  all  that  is  beautiful — all  that  Is  majestic — ^in 
nature.  As  her  children  grew  up,  she  unfolded  to  them  tlie  pe- 
culiar doctrines  of  Christianity,  so  sublime,  so  consolatory,  so  sui- 
table to  the  wants  of  man.  Aware  how  much  occasion  favours 
the  strength  of  impressions,  she  chose  the  hour  of  strong  remorse 
on  account  of  a  youthful  fault,  while  the  culprit  yet  trembled  be- 
fore the  offended  majesty  of  Heaven,  to  explain  to  her  son  the  im- 
possibility that  repentance  should,  of  itself,  cancel  errors  past,  or 
that  the  great  law-giver  should  accept  a!  few  ineffectual  tears,  or  a 
tardy  and  imperfect  obedience,  as  a  compensation  for  the  breacli 
of  a  law  that  is  perfect.  When  she  saw  that  the  intended  impres- 
sion was  made,  she  spoke  of  the  great  atonement  that  once  was 
offered,  not  to  make  repentance  unnecessary,  but  to  make  it  effec- 
tual :  and,  from  that  time,  using  this  as  one  of  the  great  landmarks 
of  faith,  she  contributed  to  make  it  in  the  mind  of  Dc  Courcy  a 
practical  and  abiding  principle.  The  peculiar  precepts  of  chi'is- 
vianity,  she  taught  him  to  apply  to  his  actions,  by  applying  them 
herself;  and  the  praise  tliatis  so  often  lavished  upon  boldness,  dex- 
terity, and  spirit,  she  conscientiously  reserved  for  acts  of  candour, 
humility,  and  self-denial. 

Her  cares  were  amply  rewra-ded,  and  Montague  became  all  that 
she  wished  him  to  be.  He  was  a  christian  from  the  heart,  without 
being  either  forward  to  claim,  or  ashamed  to  own,  the  distinction. 
He  was  industrious  in  his  pursuits,  and  simple  in  his  pleasures. — 
But  the  distinctive  feature  of  his  character,  was  the  total  absence 
of  sclfishnes*.  His  own  pleasure  or  his  own  amusement  he  never 
hesitated  to  sacx'ifice  to  the  wishes  of  others ;  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  he  found  his  pleasure  and  amusement  in  theirs.  Upon 
the  whole,  we  do  not  say  that  Montague  Ue  Courcy  had  no  faults  ; 
but  wc  are  sure  he  had  none  ^mt  he  did  not  strive  to  conquer. 
Like  other  human  beings,  he  sometimes  acted  wrong;  but  we  be- 
lieve he  would  not  deliberately  have  neglected  a  known  duty  to 
escape  any  worldly  misfortune  ;  we  are  sure  he  would  not  delibe- 
rately have  coipmitted  a  crime  to  attain  any  earthly  advantage. 

Desirious  that  her  darling  should  enjoy  the  benefits  of  the  most 
liberal  education, 3-tt  afraid  to  trust  him  to  the  temptations  of  an 
]&igiish  university,  Mrs.  De  Courcy  went  for  some  years  to  reside 
;n  Edinburgh  during  the  winter — in  summer  she  retiu-nc^l   "  ''^   '"' '' 


family  to  Norwood.  To  his'private  studies,  and  his  patei'iial  home, 
Montague  rctunied  with  ever  new  delicfht ;  for  his  tastes  and  hi» 
habits  were  all  domestie.  He  had  no  ambitious  wishes  to  lure  him 
from  his  retreat,  for  his  wants  were  even  more  moderate  than  his 
fortune.  Except  in  so  far  as  he  could  make  it  useful  to  others,  he 
had  no  value  for  rnqney,  nor  for  any  thing  that  money  could  buy, 
exclusive  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  books,  and  implimcnts  of  che- 
mistry. The  profession  which  he  had  chosen  wasthat  of  improv- 
ing and  embellishing  his  estate  ;  and,  in  the  tranquil  pleasures  of 
a  country  gentleman,  a  man  of  taste,  a  classical  scholar,  and  -a 
chemist,  he  found  means  to  occupj  himself  without  injury  to  hi.s 
health,  his  morals,  or  his  fortune.  His  favourite  amusements  wert^ 
drawing  and  physiognomy;  and,  like  other  favourites,  these 
were  sometimes  in  danger  of  making  encroachments,  and  advanc- 
ing into  the  rank  of  high  concerns.  But  this  he  prevented  by  an 
exact  distribution  of  his  time,  ta  which  he  resolutely  adhered. 

With  his  mother  and  his  sister  he  lived  in  the  most  perfect  har- 
mony, though  the  yoiing  lady  had  the  reputation  of  a  wit,  and  was 
certainly  a  little  addicted  to  sarcasm.  But  she  was  in  other  i-es- 
pects  amiable,  and  incapable  of  doing  any  thing  to  offend  her  bro- 
Jier,  whose  indignation  indeed  never  rose  but  against  crucltv, 
meanness,  or  deceit. 

De  Courcy  had  just  entered  his  twenty-fifth  year,  when  a  rheu 
matic  fever  deprived  his  mother  of  the  use  of  her  limbs  ;  and,  for- 
saking  all  his  employments,  he  had  quitted  his  beloved  Norwood  to 
attend  her  in  London,  whitiiershe  had  come  for  the  benefit  of  medical 
advice.  He  had  been  but  a  f^ w  days  in  town  when  he  met  with 
Miss  Monti-eville,  and  tlie  impression  which  her  beauty  made,  the 
second  interview  tended  toconfitm.- 

Montague  had  never,  eveli  in  imagination,  been  in  love.  The  re- 
gulation  of  his  passions,  the  improvement  of  his  mind,  and  tlie  care 
of  his  property,  had  hitherto  left  him  no  leisure  for  the  tender  folly. 
He  had  scarcely  ever  thought  of  a  young  woman's  face,  except  witli 
a  reference  to  Lavater's  opinion,  nor  of  her  manners,  except  to 
wonder  how  she  could  be  so  obtrusive.  But,  in  contemplating  Lau- 
ra's face,  he  forgot  the  rules  of  the  physiognomist ;  and,  in  the  in- 
teresting reserve  of  her  manners,  he  found  continually^sometliing  to 
desire.  If,  at  the  rlose  of  his  visit,  he  was  not  in  love,  he  was  at 
least  in  a  f-"  ^vay  for  being  so.  He  was  assailed  at  once  by  beauty^ 
ffi.«oe,  good  sense,  and  sweetness  ;  and  to  these  Laura  added  the 
smgular  charm  of  being  wholly  insensible  to  tlieir  effects  upon  the 
beholder.  No  side  glance  was  sent  in  search  of  admiration,  no  care 
was  taken  to  compose  her  drapery ;  no  look  of  triumph  accompanied 
her  judicious  remarks;  no  parade  of  sensibility  disgraced  her  ten- 
derness.  Every  charm  was  heightened  by  a  matchless  absence  of 
all  design ;  and  against  this  formidable  battery  had  poor  De  Courcy 
to  make  his  stand,  just  at  the  inauspicious  hour  wh^n,  for  the 
tirst  tune  in  his  Ufe,  ho  had  nothing  else  to  do. 


76 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Ab  soon  as  Be  Couvcy  was  gone.  Captain  Monti*eville  launched 
out  warmly  in  his  praise.  Laura  joined  in  the  eulogium  ;  and,  the 
next,  moment,  forgot  thattliere  was  such  a  person  in  existence,  when 
s4ic  read  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Douglas,  of  which  the  following  was  a. 

part. 

"  Before  this  readies  you.  Colonel  Hargrave  will  be  far  on  his 
way  to  London.  It  is  possible  that  you  may  have  no  interest  in  this 
journey  ;  but,  lest  you  should,  I  wish  to  prevent  your  being  taken 
by  surprise.  Since  your  departure  he  has  repeatedly  visited  us  ; 
and  endeavoured,  both  directly  and  indirectly,  to  discover  your  ad- 
dress. Perhaps  you  will  think  ray  caution"  ill-timed  ;  but  I  acted 
according  to  my  best  judgment,  in  avoiding  to  comply  with  his  de- 
sire. I  think,  however,  that  he  has  elsewhere  procured  the  infor- 
mation he  wanted ;  for  Kis  features  wore  an  air  of  triumph,  as  he 
asked  my  commands  for  you.  Dear  child  of  my  affections,  richly 
endowed  as  you  are  with  the  dangerous  gift  of  beauty,  jou  have 
hitherto  escaped,  as  if  by  miracle,  from  the  snares  of  folly  and  fri- 
volity. My  heart*s  prayer  for  you  is,  that  you  may  be  as  safe  front 
rhe  danger.^  that  await  you,  in  the  passions  of  others,  and  in  the  ten- 
derness of  your  own  heart.  But,  alas !  my  beloved  Laura,  distant 
as  I  am  from  you,  ignorant  as  I  am  of  the  peculiarities  of  your  sit- 
uation, I  can  onij  pray  for  you.  I  fear  to  express  my  conjectures. 
Test  I  should  seem  to  extort  your  confidence,  I  fear  to  caution,  lest 
I  should  shock  or  offend  you.  Yet  let  me  remind  you,  that  it  is 
easier,  by  one  bold  effort,  to  reject  temptation,  tJsan  to  resist  its  con- 
tinued allurements.  Effectually  to  bar  the  access  of  tlie  tempter 
:nay  cost  a  painful  effort — to  parley  with  him  is  destruction.  But  I 
must  stop.     Tears  of  anxious  affection  blot  v%hat  I  have  written. 

"  E.  Douglas." 

The  joyful  expectation  of  seeing  Hargrave  filled  for  a  time  the 
}ieart  ol*  Laura,  and  left  no  room  for  other  thoughts.  The  first  that 
found  entrance  was  of  a  less  pleasing  cast.  She  perceived  that  Mrs. 
Douglas  suspected  Hargrave  of  the  baseriess  of  deliberate  seduc- 
tion ;  and,  with  a  feeling  of  indignation,  she  collect*^  her  writing 
materials,  and  sat  down  to  exculpate  him.  But,  as  she  aga^r^  read 
her  friend's  expressions  of  affection,  and  considered  how  htfle  her 
suspicions  were  remote  from  the  truth,  she  accused  herself  of  ingra- 
titude and  injustice  in  giving  way  to  any  thing  like  resentments- 
She  thanked  Mrs.  Douglas  for  her  cautions  ;  but  assured  her,  that 
the  proposals  of  Hai'grave  were  honourable,  unequivocal,  and  sane- 
Lioned  by  her  father;  that  they  had  been  rejected  by  herself;  and, 
^.herefore,  that  no  motive,  except  that  of  vmdicatmg  him  from  an 
xmfounded  sAispicion,  should  have  teiTipted  her  to  betray,  even  to 
her  most  confidential  friend,  a  secret  ^\•hich  she  thought  a  wona^ 
]yQund,  both  in  delicsicv  and  iji  honour,  to  fceep  inviolable.    She  ^d 


f^:- 


77 

not  once  hint  at  the  cause  of  her  rejecting  an  offer  so  splendid,  nor 
show  a  trace  of  the  incUnation  which  she  had  so  nobly  sacrificed  to 
virtue,  except  what  appeared  in  the  warmtli  of  her  defence  of  her 
lover  For,  thoug-h  she  felt  that  her  storj'  would  have  raised  her  in 
her  friend's  esteem,  she  scorned  to  purchase  that  advantage  at  the 
expense  of  anotherj  and  retained  all  her  aversion  to  exposing  the 
faults  of  Hargrave 

Having  finished  her  letter,  she  returned  to  tlie  more  agreeable 
subject  of  contemplation,  and  began  to  calculate  upon  the  time 
when  she  might  expect  to  see  the  Colonel.  Her  concl  sion  was, 
th;  t  he  would  probably  '  isit  her  on  the  following  day,  and  her  heart 
throbbed  with  deliglit  at  the  prospect. 

But  from  the  dream  of  joy,  Laura  soon  returned  to  the  more  ha- 
bitual consideration  of  the  Une  of  conduct  which  it  was  fit  that  she 
should  pursue.  She  saw  the  folly  of  committing  her  happiness  to 
tlie  guardianship  of  one  whose  passions  were  his  masers;  and, 
while  it  was  her  daily  prayer  that  she  might  not  be  led  into  tempta- 
tion, her  conscience  revolted  from  trusting  her  conduct  to  the  gui  - 
dance,  her  virtue  to  the  ex;  mple,  of  a  man  whose  principles  were 
doubtful.  For  Laura's  virtue  was  not  of  that  saint-ertf  nt  kind  that 
sallies  forth  in  quest  of  opportunities  to  signaUze  itself,  wid  inflames 
its  pride  by  meditation  on  the  wonders  it  would  achieve,  if  placed 
in  perilous  situations.  Distrustful  of  herself— watchful  to  avoid 
occasions  of  falling — she  had  no  ambition  for  the  dangerous  glorv 
of  reformmg  a  rake  into  a  good  husband.  She  therefore  adhered 
to  her  determination,  that  she  would  not  consent  to  a  union  with 
her  lover,  till,  by  a  course  of  virtuous  co;,d  .  ct  he  had  ^ven  proof 
that  his  offence  had  been  the  sudden  fault  of  a  moment,  not  the  de- 
liberate purpose  of  a  corrupted  heart. 

Yet  even  in  this  mitigated  view,  the  recollection  was  poison  to 
the  soul  of  Laura.  The  painful  thought  was  far  from  new  to  her, 
that  the  passion  of  Hargrave  was  a  tribute  to  her  personal  charms 
alone.  With  such  a  passion,  even  were  its  continuance  possible, 
Liura  felt  that  she  could  not  be  satisfied.  To  be  the  object  of  il 
degi-aded  her  in  her  own  eyes.  •*  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  cover 
rng  her  fiice  with  her  hands,  "  let  me  not  even  legally  occupv  on- 
ly the  place  which  the  vilest  might  fill.  If  I  cannot  be  the  friend, 
the  companion,  as  well  as  the  mistress,  better,  far  better,  were  it 
that  we  should  part  for  ever." 

No  labour  is  sufficient  to  acquaint  us  fully  with  our  own  hearts. 
It  never  occurred  to  Laura,  that  she  was,  as  much  as  Hargrave 
the  captive  oi  mere  externals  ;  and  that  his  character  would  never 
have  deceived  her  penetration,  had  it  been  exliibited  in  the  pei-son 
of  a  little  red  haired  man,  with  bandy  legs,  who  spoke  broad 
Scotch,  and  smoked  tobacco.  Till  the  hour  when  he  had  himself 
dispelled  the  illusion,  the  character  of  Hargrove,  such  as  she  chos'- 
to  imagine  it,  had  been  to  her  a  tlieme  of  the  most  delightful  con^ 
templation;  and  to  its  fascinations  she  had  willingly  and  entirely 
resi.rned  herself  The  disguise,  which  was  rather  the  excuse, 
Uian  the  cause  of  her  passion,  had  been  dropped  in  part:  vpt  the 

G2  *         ■' 


rs 

tsassion  was  as  stroivgasevcr.  It  was,  indeed,  no  longer  pleasing,  no 
longer  blind,  no  longer  paramount;  tor  her  i*eason,  which  had  be- 
fore been  silent,  was  now  permitted  to  speak,  and  though  it  was  una- 
ble to  conquer,  it  could  control  Slie  imagined  the  vehemence  with 
whicli  Hargrave  would  urge  her  to  shorten  the  term  of  his,  proba- 
tion, and  she  feared  that  she  should  find  it  difficult,  perhaps  impos- 
sible, to  resist  his  entreaties.  She  would  not,  therefore,  expose 
her  prudence  to  too  severe  a  trial.  "  Yes,"  said  she,  "I  will  bar 
the  access  of  the  tempter.  I  will  see  Hargi-ave  only  once,  and  that 
shall  be  to  bid  him  farewell,  till  the  stipulated  two  years  are  fin- 
ished. If  he  really  loves  me,  his  affection  will  survive  absence. 
If  it  fail  in  the  tiial,  I  may,  though  lost  to  happiness,  find  in  n\y 
solitude  a  peace  that  never  can  visit  a  neglected  wife." 

This  philosophic  conclusion  was  the  fruit  of  her  meditations  du- 
ring a  restless  night ;  and  having  worked  herself,  as  she  thought, 
into  a  temper  indecorously  relentless,  she  proceeded,  with  all  tlie 
consistency  of  her  sex,  to  adorn  her  person  with  a  cai-e  she  had 
never  before  bestowed  upon  it.  She  arranged  eveiy  curl  for  ef- 
fect ;  chose  a  dress  which  shewed  to  advantage  the  graeeftil  slope 
of  her  shoulders ;  and  heightened  the  whiteness  of  her  neck  and 
arms,  by  contrasting  it  \vith  fillets  of  jet.  Though  she  was  but 
Indifferently  pleased  with  her  success,' it  proved  sufficient  for  her 
occasions.  The  day  passed  away,  and  Hargrave  did  not  appear. 
Laura  was  disappointed,  but  not  .surprised;  for  it  was  barely  pos- 
sible that  he  could  have  reached  London  on  that  day.  On  the 
succeeding  one  she  thought  it  likely  that  he  might  come  ;  but  the 
succeeding  one  was  equally  barren  of  event. 

On  the  third  she  was  certain  that  he  would  arrive;  and,  when 
breakfast  was  over,  she  seated  herself  in  expectation  at  the  window 
of  the  front  parlour,  stai'ted  if  a  carriage  stopped,  and  listened  to 
every  voice  that  sounded  from  below  stairs.  Half-desirous  to  es- 
cape her  father's  observation,  half-wishing  that  her  interview  with. 
Hargrave  should  be  vfithout  witnesses,  she  persuaded  Captain 
Montreviile  to  go  and  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs.  De  Courcy.  Anx- 
iously she  waited,  conjectured,  doubted,  reconsulted  Mrs.  Doug- 
las's letter.  The  Captain  returned ;  the  hours  of  visitbig  passed 
away;  and  still  no  Hargi-ave  came. 

Unwilling  to  own,  even  to  herself,  the  extent  of  her  anxiety  and 
disappointment,  Laura  talked  to  her  father  of  his  visit,  with  v/hich 
he  had  been  higlily  pleased.  He  had  been  amused  with  Harriet  ; 
charmed  with  Mrs.  De  Courcy;  and  doubly  charmed  with  Mon- 
rague,  whom  he  praised  as  a  scholar  and  a  man  of  sense,  as  an  ef- 
fectionate  brotlier  and  a  respectful  son ;  and,  to  crown  all  these 
commendations,  he  declared,  that  De  Courcy  was  more  than  a 
match  for  himself  at  chess. 

When  they  retired  for  the  night,  Laura  returned  to  her  conjee- 
tures  on  the  cause  of  Hargi-avc's  delay.  She  considered  that  he 
might  be  detained  on  the  road,  or  that  he  might  have  found  it  ne- 
cessary to  make  a  visit  on  his  way.  She  had  little  doubt  that  to  ser 
her  was  the  object  of  his  journey  to  London  at  Xhis  iinft^siuoDftble 


7D 

season.  She  had  none,  that  he  would  hu?ry  tx>  her  the  first  ma»' 
ment  that  it  was  possible.  By  degT-ees,  she  persuuded herself  into 
an  absolute  certainty,  that  she  should  see  him  on  the  following 
day  ;  and  on  that  day,  she  again  took  her  anxious  station  in  the 
pnrlour. 

She  wa»  ashamed  to  lejui  over  the  window,  and  could  not  other- 
wise see  who  entered  the  house ;  but  she  left  the  room  door  a-jar, 
that  she  might  have  warning-  of  his  approach,  held  her  breath  to 
distinguish  the  voices  fi'om  below,  and  hstened  eagerly  to  every 
footstep.  At  last,  she  imagined  that  she  heard  the  wished-for  in- 
quiry. She  was  sure  some  one  pronounced  her  name.  A  man's 
atep  ascended  the  stair;  Laura  trembled  andher  breath  came  short. 
She  feared  to  look  up,  and  leant  her  face  on  her  band  to  conceal 
her  emotion. 

The  voice  of  her  visitor  made  her  start,  and  turn  her  head.  It 
was  Warren  ! 

EjHiectation  had  been  wound  up  to  its  highest  pitch,  and  Laur;i 
rould  not  instantly  recover  herself.  She  paid  her  compliments 
V.  ith  a  confusion  and  trepidation,  which  Warren  interpreted  in  a 
v.ay  most  flattering  to  his  vanity.  He  approached  her  with  a  look, 
in  which  ill-suppressed  triumph  contended  with  laboured  conde- 
scension; and  spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  tliat  seemed  to  say,  "Pray, 
endeavour  to  reassure  yourself."  ButXaura'was  in  no  humour 
to  endure  his  impertinence,  and  she  seized  tlie  lirat  opportunity  to 
leave  the  room. 

Captain  Montreville  soon  entered  on  the  business  in  which  he 
took  such  painful  interest,  by  inquiring  whether  any  traces  hadyct 
been  discovered  of  the  sale  of  his  daughter's  annuity.  Warren, 
with  abundance  of  regret  and  condolence,  informed  him,  that  Wil- 
liams had  as  yet  been  able  to  discover  no  znention  of  the  transac- 
tion in  the  books. 

This  assertion  was  so  far  true,  that  Williams  had  as  yet  seen  no 
record  of  tlie  business  in  question ;  for  which  Mr.  Warren  could, 
if  he  had  chosen,  have  given  a  very  satisfactory  reason.  From  the 
moment  this  gentie^nan  had  first  seen  .Laura,  he  had  been  deter- 
mined not  wufuily  to  expedite  her  departure  from  London;  and 
therefore  he  had  casually  dropped  a  hint  to  his  man  of  business, 
ihat,  as  he  was  already  overwhelmed  with  a  multiphcity  of  affairs, 
it  vv'as  unnecessaiy  to  hasten  a  concern  of  such  trivial  importance ; 
and  that  he  might  defer  inquiring  into  the  sale  of  the  annuky  till 
he  was  at  perfect  leisure.  Had- he  insinuated  to  Wdiiams,  that 
tliis  delay  was  detaining  from  his  home  a  man  who  could  ill  aiibrd 
the  consequent  expense,  or  that  it -was  alarming  a  father  for  the 
future  subsistence  of  his  only  Child,  the  man  ef  business  would 
iiave  found  leisure  to  investigate  the  matter,  even  if  he  had  sub- 
tracted the  necessary  time  from  his  hours  of  rest.  But  the  up- 
right Mr.  Warren  had  given  no  stich  intimation;  and- in  this  hon- 
ourable transaction,  he  was,fotfthe  present,  secure  from  detection, 
for  he  knew  Uiatbu&ine8sbft^caUedhi&  agent to^gilistjinc^  :fi«xD 
JLondoa. 


so 

Captain  Montrcviile  knew  not  what  to  think.  He  could  not 
doubt  the  integrity  of  Mr.  Baynard,  nor  could  he  imagine  to  what 
purpose  Warren  should  deny  the  transaction;  since,  if  it  had  real- 
ly taken  place,  the  vouchers  of  it  must  be  found  among  his  decea* 
sed  friend's  papers.  He  was  persuaded  that  to  examine  the  books 
accorduig  to  the  date  of  the  sale,  would  be  the  work  of  only  a  few 
hours;  and  again  he  inquired  whether tKe  necessary  examination 
had  been  made.  Mr.  Warren  answered,  that  he  could  not  take  it 
upon  him  to  say  that  every  possible  search  had  yet  been  made  ;  but 
his  agent,  he  said,  had  examined  all  the  most  probable  records  of 
the  concern,  and  would,  on  his  retui-n  to  town,  make  a  still  more 
particular  scrutiny. 

With  this  unsatisfactory  answer.  Captain  MonU-eville  was  obli- 
ged  to  content  himself  He  had  only  one  alternative — either  to 
wait  in  London  the  appointment  of  the  person  who  was  to  aiTange 
Mr.  Baynard's  papers,  or  to  return  to  Scotland,  and  resign  all  hopes 
of  the  annuity.  He  feared,  too,  to  offend  Warren  by  urging  him- 
too  strongly,  since,  even  should  a  voucher  of  the  payment  of  his 
1500/-  be  found,  the  informality  in- the  deed  would  still  leave  room 
for  litigation.  No  merely  personal  interest  would  have  induced  the 
higli  spirit  of  Montreville  to  conciliate  a  man  whom  he  despised  as 
a  fool  and  a  coxcomb. — For  nothing  that  concerned  himself  alone, 
would  he  have  submitted  to  the  trouble  and  anxiety  which  he  had 
lately  undergone.  HI  calculated  by  nature  to  struggle  with  diffi- 
culties, he  had  long  been  accustomed  to  let  the  lesser  disasters 
glide  by  without  notice,  and  to  sink,  without  effort,  under  the 
greater.  Disappointed  in  the  woman  of  his  choice,  and  deprived, 
by  her  folly  or  perverseness,  of  the  domestic  pleasures  which  he  lo- 
ved, his  mind  had  taken  a  cast  of  melancholy.  Early  secluded 
from  society,  and  tormented  by  the  temper  of  his  wife,  he  had  con- 
centrated all  the  affections  which  solitude  confined,  and  caprice 
rejected,  upon  one  object :  and  Laura  became  the  passion  of  his 
sold.  The  thought  of  leaving  her  destitute,  of  leaving  her  sensi- 
bility to  the  scorns,  her  beauty  to  the  temptations  of  poverty,  was 
more  than  he  could  bear,  and  it  sometimes  almost  overpowere<l 
him.  He  was  naturally  inclined  to  indolence,  and  as,  like  all  indo- 
lent people,  he  was  the' creature  of  habit,  his  spirits  had  suffered 
much  from  the  loss  of  the  woman  who,  though  too  heartless  for  a 
friend,  and  too  bitter  for  a  companion,  had,  for  twenty  years,  ser- 
ved him  as  a  sort  of  stimulous.  The  same  force  of  habit,  joined  to 
her  improving  graces  and  confirming  worth,  made  Laura  daily 
more  dear  to  him>  and  he  would  willingly  have  given  his  life  to 
secure  her  independence  and  happiness. 

Brooding  on  the  obscurity  in  which  she  must  remain,  whom  he 
judged  worthy  to  adorn  the  highest  station— on  the  poverty  which 
Awaited  her  during  his  life — on  the  want  to  which  his  death  must 
consign  her — removed  from  his  habitual  occupations,  and  dcpriv- 
ed  of  the  wholesome  air,  and  exhilarating  exercise  to  which  he 
had  beenso  long  accustomed,  he  allowed  his  spirits  to  grow  d^iiy 
aore  depressed.     Along  with  the  idea  of  the  misfortunes  w  hicMia* 


81 

tleatli  wouUl  bnng*  upon  his  darling-,  the  fear  of  deatli  settled  oil 
his  mind.  The  little  ailments  to  which  the  sedentary  are  liable, 
he  ma.ffnificd  into  the  symptoms  of  mortal  disease  ;  and  momenta- 
ry pain  seemed  to  his  fancy  to  foretcl  sudden  dissolution.  Mon- 
trevillc  was  fast  sinking-  into  a  melancholy  hypochondriuc. 

His  daughter's  spirits,  too,  failed  under  continued  expectation, 
and  continued  disappointment ;  for  day  after  day  passed  on,  and 
still  Hargrave  came  not.  Her  father's  dejection  increased  her  own, 
and  her  ill-disg-uised  depression  had  a  similar  eifect  upon  him — 
While,  however,  Captain  Montreville  gave  way  without  effort  to 
his  feeling's,  the  more  vigorous  mind  of  Laura  struggled  to  sup- 
press the  sorrow  whicli  she  saw  v/as  C-Qivtagious.  She  sometimes 
prevailed  upon  her  father  to  seek  am;usement  abroad,  sometimes 
endeavoured  to  amuse  him  at  home.  She  read  to  him,  sung  to 
him,  exerted  all  her  conversation  and  talent  to  entertain  him;  and 
often,  when  all  was  in  vain,  when  he  would  answer  her  by  forced 
smiles,  languid  gestures,  or  heavy  sighs,  slic  woidd  turn  aside  to 
wipe  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  then  smile,  and  attempt  her  task 
again. 

In  these  labours  she  had  now,  it  is  true,  the  assistance  of  an  in- 
telllgcnt  companion.  De  Courcy  cam.e  often ;  and  the  Captain 
seemed  to  receive  a  pleasure  from  his  visits,  which  even  Laura's 
efforts  could  not  bestow.  The  tenderness  of  his  child,  indeed,  ap- 
peared sometimes  to  overpower  him  ;  for,  when  she  was  exerting 
.  Iierself  to  divert  his  melancholy,  lie  would  gaze  upon  her  for  a 
while  in  an  agony  of  fondjiess,  then  suddenly  desire  to  be  left 
alone,  and  dismiss  her  from  his  presence.  But  De  Courcy's  atten- 
tions seemed  always  welcome.  He  soothed  the  irritated  mind 
with  respectf\d  assiduities-»-he  felt  for  its  sickly  sensibilit}'— and, 
though  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  Montreville's  dejection,  foimd  in 
alleviating  it  a  pleasure,  which  was  more  than  doubled  by  the  un- 
J^Isg-uisetl  appioX>LUlon  ai»<J  g^irititiul*?  of  Laura, 

His  sister,  too,canie  to  visit  Miss  Montreville, and, apologi zing fos 
her  mother,  who  was  unable  to  accompany  her,  brought  an  uivita- 

tion  for  the  Captain  and  his  daugliter  to  dine  in  Audley-street. 

Laura,  in  hopes  of  amusing  her  father,  prevailed  on  him  to  accept 
the  invitation ;  and  an  early  day  was  fixed  for  the  visit.  She  w  as 
pleased  with  the  frankness  and  gaiety  of  Harriet's  manner,  and  her 
curiosity  was  roused  by  Captain  Montreville's  praises  of  Mi-s.  De 
Courcy. 

The  day  arrived,  and  Laura  prepared  to  accompany  her  father, 
not  without  trepidation  at  the  thought  of  entering,  for  the  fir,sttimc 
in  her  life,  a  room  which  alie  expected  to  find  full  of  strangers. — 
When  she  had  finished  dressing,  he  examined  her  witli  triumph  ; 
and  thought  that  nothing  in  nature  was  so  perfect.  The  thought 
wafi  legible  in  his  countenance,  and  Laura,  with  gi-eat  simplicity, 
answered  to  it  as  if  it  had  been  spoken  "Except  to  please  you/' 
said. she,  "I  wish  I  had  been  neither  tall  nor  pretty,  for  then  I 
should  Jiave  Jaeen  allavved  to  .move. about  without  notice."  "  Thcn^ 


82  ' 

loo,"  thoug-ht  she  with  a  heavy  sigh,  •*  I  should  have  been  lovcu: 
for  myself,  and  not  have  been  perhaps  forgotten.** 

Laura  was  not  ignorant  of  her  own  beauty,  but  no  human  being 
co\dd  less  value  the  distinction.  She  was  aware  of  the  regularityij 
of  her  features  ;  but  as  she  never  used  a  looking-glass,  unless  for^ 
the  obvious  purpose  of  arranging  her  dress,  she  was  insensible  of 
the  celestial  charm  which  expression  added  to  her  face.  The  se- 
riousness and  dignity  of  her  manners  made  it  difficult  to  address 
her  with  common-place  compliment;  and  she  had  accordingly  ne- 
ver experienced  any  effect  of  her  beauty,  but  one  which  was  alto- 
jfether  disagreeable  to  he^,'that  of  attracting  notice.  To  being  the 
subject  of  observation,  Laiiraretained  the  Caledonian  dislike  which 
ence  distinguished  her  country-V.'omen,  before  they  were  polished 
into  that  glitter  which  attracts  the  vulgar,  and  paid  for  the  acqui- 
sition by  the  loss  of  the  timidity  which,  like  the  xrugo  of  ancient 
coin,  adds  value  in  the  eye  of  taste  to  intrinsic  worth,  while  it 
shields  even  baser  merit  from  contempt.. 

Laura's  courage  failed  her  when,  throwiftg  open  the  door  of  a 
large  room,  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  servant  announced  Captain  and 
Miss  Montreville.  But  she  revived  wheni  she  perceived  that  the 
company  consisted  only  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  her  sou 
and  daughter.  Mrs.  De  Coiu-cy's  appearance  seemed  to  Laura 
^ery  prepossessing.  She  still  wore  the  dress  of  a  widow ;  and 
her  countenance  bore  the  traces  of  what  is  called  a  green  old  age  ; 
for  though  the  hair  tliat  shaded  her  commanding  forehead  wa:^ 
silver  white,  her  djii-k  eyes  retained  their  brightness  ;  and  though 
Ler  complexion  was  pale,  it  glowed  at  times  with  the  roses  of 
youth.  'Ihe  expression  of  her  face,  v/hich  was  serious  even  to 
solemnity,  brightened  with  a  smile  of  inexpressible  benevolence, 
as  she  i*eceived  her  guest;  and,  even  in  the  difficulty  with  which 
she  appeared  to  move,  Laura  found  sorpewhat  interesting-.  Her  air 
and  manners,  without  a  tincture  oi' fashion,  spoke  the  ge4»tlewo- 
man.  Her  dress,  her  person,  her  demeanor,  every  thing  about 
her  seemed  consistently  respectable.  The  dinner  was  plain,  but 
excellent.  The  few  indispensable  pieces  of  plate  were  antique  and 
massive;  and  the  only  attendant  who  appeared,  seemed  to  have 
grown  gray  in  the  service  of  the  family.  Laura  had  pleasure  in 
observing,  that  the  reverence  with  which  this  old  man  addressed 
his  lady,  softened  into  affectionate  solicitude  to  please  when  he  at- 
tended De  Courcy,  who,  in  his  turn,  seemed  to  treat  him  witli  the 
most  considerate  gentleness. 

Mrs.  De  Courcy  behaved  to  Laura  with  distinguished  politeness  ; 
addressed  her  often  ;  endeavoured  to  draw  forth  her  latent  powers  ; 
and  soon  made  her  sensible  that  the  impression  she  had  given,  was 
no  less  favourable  than  that  which  she  had  received.  Montague's 
convers  ation  had  its  accustomed  effect  on  Montreville,  and  the  Uve- 
ly  Harriet  gave  spirit  to  the  whole.  The  evening  passed  most 
agreeably  ;  and  Laura  was  sorry  when  the  hour  of  sepai-ation  ar- 
rived.   Mrs.  De  Courcy  courteously  thanked  her  for  her  visit,  and 


83 

begged  her  to  repeat  It ;  but  Harriet  sportively  objected ;  "  No, 
no,"  said  she,  "  if  you  come  back,  you  will  not  leave  a  heart  among 
^  the  household — even  old  John's  seems  in  danger." 

"  Well,  mamma,"  continued  she,  when  Laura  was  gone,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  my  brother's  beauty  I  "  I  think,'*  said  Mrs.  De 
Courcy,  '"that  Montague's  praises  did  her  no  more  than  justice. — 
She  is  the  most  lovely,  the  most  elegant  woman  I  ever  saw  "  *'  She 
is  no  doubt  beautiful  and  interesting,"  returned  Harriet ;  "  but  I 
must  still  thiiik  she  has  too  much  of  the  buckram  of  the  old  school 
to  be  elegant"  Montague  bit  his  lip,  and  tried,  before  he  spoke, 
to  ascertain  that  he  was  not  angfr}'.  "Tou  are  too  severe,  Harriet," 
said  Mrs.  De  Courcy.  "  Miss  Montreville's  reserve  is  not  stiffness 
— it  is  not  *  buckram ;'  it  Is  rather  the  graceful  drapery,  embellish- 
ing what  it  veils."  «  Mother,"  cried  Montague,  grasping  her 
hand,  "  you  h.ve  more  g  ndour,  sense,  and  taste,  than  all  the  misses 
in  England."  "  Oh  "  pray,  except  Miss  Montreville  and  the  present 
company,  "said  Harriet,  laughing.  "  She,  you  know,  is  all  pcrfec- 
•tion  ;  and  /  have  really  candour,  sense,  and  taste  enough  to  admire 
her  more  than  ever  I  did  aiiy  %vuiiian,  except  my  little  self"  De 
Courcy  threw  liis  arm  round  her — **  I  see  by  that  good-natur  d 
smile,"  said  he,  "  that  my  dear  Harriet  has  at  least  candour  enough 
to  pardon  the  folly  of  a  wayward  brother."  And,  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  he  treated  her  with  even  more  than  his  usual  attentive 
kindness. 

From  this  day  Misa  De  Courcy  frequently  accompanied  her  bro. 
iher  on  his  visits  to  the  Montrevilles,  and  Laura  was  a  welcome 
guest  in  Audley  Street.  By  degrees  Mrs.  De  Courcy  and  she  dis- 
covered,the  real  worth  of  each  other's  character,  and  their  mutual 
reserve  entirely  disappeared.  Between  Laura  and  De  Courcy,  al- 
most from  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance,  there  seemed  (to  use 
the  language  of  romance)  a  sympathy  of  souls ; — an  expression 
which,  if  it  has  any  meaning,  must  mean  the  facility  with  which  sim- 
ple, upright,  undesigning  minds  become  intelligible  to  each  other. 
Even  the  sarcastic  Harriet  found,  in  the  chaste  propriety  of  Laura's 
character,  something  to  command  respect :  and  in  her  gentleness 
and  warmth  of  heart,  something  to  engage  affection  ;  while  in  her 
ideas,  which  solitude  liad  slightly  tinged  witli  romance,  though 
strong  sense  had  preserved  them  from  absurdity,  and  in  her  lan- 
guage, which  sometimes  rose  to  the  very  verge  of  poetry,  she  found 
constantly  somewhat  to  interest  and  amuse. 

Meanwhile  Montreville's  dejection  seemed  to  increase  ;  and 
Laura's  health  and  spirits,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  support  them, 
daily  declined.  Hargrave  did  not  appear,  and  vainly  did  she  en  - 
Acavour  to  account  for  his  absence.  She  at  first  conjectured  that 
he  had  found  it  impossible  to  leave  Scotland  at  the  time  he  pro- 
posed ;  but  a  second  letter  from  Mrs.  Douglas  had  mentioned  his 
departure,  and  repeated  the  assurance  that,  however  obtained,  he 
had  infoj  mation  of  Laura's  address,  since  he  liad  undertaken  to  be 
the  bearer  of  a  letter  from  a  ncighbourrng  gentleman  to  Captain 
Monli-evillc.  o  o  r 


u 

She  next  supposed  that  he  had  stopped  on  the  road,  or  quliteiy 
it  on  some  errand  of  business  or  pleasure-^but  a  newspaper  ac- 
count of  a  fete  champetre,  at  Lady  Bellamer*s  elegant  villa  at  Kich- 
?nond,  was  graced,  among  other  fashionable  narhcs,  with  tliat  of 
the  handsome  Calonel  Hargrave,  nephew  and  heir  of  Lord  Lin* 
court.  No  supposition  remained  to  be  made,  except  tlie  ihortify- 
ing  one,  that  three  months  of  absence  had  erased  hfer  image  from 
the  fickle  heirt  of  Hargrate.  She,  who  had  herself  consigned  her 
lov'er  to  a  banishment  of  two  years,  could  not  bear  that  he  should 
voUmtan'y  undergo  ohe  of  a  few  weeks.  Nay,  she  had  once  her- 
self resigned  him;  but  to  be  herself  resigned  without  effort,  was 
more  than  she  coold  endtife.  Her  appetite,  her  sleep  forsook  her ; 
her  ordinary  employments  became  u-ksome ;  and  even  the  picture, 
the  price  of  which  was  so  soon  to  be  netessary,  she  had  not  spir- 
its to  finish. 

But  one  who  w^  accustomed  evety  night  to  examine  the  thoughts 
and  actions  of  the  day.  Was  riot  hkely  to  remain  lon^  a  prey  to  inac- 
tive melancholy-  iSot  eAiiofic-d  with  langTjlH  ftiforts  in  the  clischarge 
of  duty,  she  reproached  herself  for  every  failure.  She  upbraided 
herself  as  a  wicked  and  slothful  servant,  who,  when  the  means  of 
Ubcfulnfess  were  put  within  her  power,  suffered  them  to  r«main  un- 
improved; as  a  rebel  who  had  deserted  the  service  of  her  rightful 
master,  to  boW  to  the  worse  than  Egyptian  bondage  of  her  passions. 
She  accused  herself  of  having  given  up  her  love,  her  wishes,  her 
iiopes  arid  fea:rs,  altrio^t  her  worship,  to  an  idol ;  and  no  sooner  did 
this  thought  occur  to  the  pious  mirid  of  Laura,  than  she  became 
resigned  to  her  loss.  She  even  feh  grateful — with  such  gratitude 
as  the  wretch  feels  under  the  knife  which  amputates  the  morbid 
limb. 

Unused  to  let  her  s6lf-rcprbaches  pass  without  improvement^  she 
resolved,  by  vigoi'ous  efforts,  to  become  hergelf  again.  She  even 
called  in  the  aid  of  a  decent  pride.  "  Shall  I,"  she  cried,  **  who 
have  vowed  to  overcome  the  world — I  who  have  called  myself  by 
that  glorious  name,  a  Christian,  sink  from  these  honours  into  a  love- 
sick girl  ?  Shall  all  my  happiness,  all  my  duties,  the  comfort  of 
my  father,  the  very  means  of  his  support,  be  sacrificed  to  selfish 
passion  ?  Or  is  a  iove,  whose  transcient  duration  has  proved  its  Ue- 
generate  nature,  of  such  value  to  me,  that  1  must  repay  it  with  my 
whole  heart  and  soulf" 

These  reflections  were  not  made  at  once,  nor  were  they  at  once 
effectual;  but,  when  made,  they  were  called  in  as  oft  as  the  image 
of  Hargrave  intruded  unbidden ;  and  constant  and  regiUar  occupa- 
tion was  again  employed  to  second  their  operation.  The  picture 
wus  again  resorted  to ;  but,  as  it  afforded  rather  an  unsocial  em- 
ployment, and  as  Laura's  company  was  more  than  ever  necessary  to 
lici-  fatlier,  it  proceeded  but  slowly. 

De  Courcy  was  now  a  daily  visitor.  Sometimes  he  brought 
books,  and  would  spend  hours  in  reading  aloud,  an  uccoroplishment 
in  which  he  excelled.  Sometimes  he  would  amuse  the  Captain  and 
his  daughter  by  experiments  in  his  favourite  science.  With  a  gen- 
Met\C39  peculiar  to  hima-ir,  he  tried  to  prevent  t^ie  little  annoyances 


85 

to  which  h}'pochondriacs  are  subject.  He  invented  a  hundred  little 
indulgences  for  the  invalid ;  and  no  day  passed,  in  which  Montre- 
ville  was  not  indebted  for  some  comfor' ,  or  some  amusement,  to  the 
considerate  kindness  of  De  Courcy.  At  times  lie  would  g«ntly  ral- 
ly the  Captain  on  his  imaginary  ailments,  and  sometimes  prevailed 
on  him  to  take  the  air  in  Mrs.  De  Courcj^s  carriage  :  thought©  such 
a  height  had  fancy  worked  upon  him,  that  Montague  found  it  im- 
possible to  persuade  him  that  he  was  able  to  endure  the  fatigue  of 
walkingv 

To  Laura,  De  Courcy's  behaviour,  uniformly,  respectful  and  at- 
tentive, was  sometimes  even  tender.  But  accustomed  to  see  love 
only  in  the  impassioned  iooics  of  Hargrare,  to  hear  its  acceuii.  on- 
ly in  his  words  of  fire,  she  did  nocrecotgnize  it  in  aQewfoi^m  ;  and 
to  consider  De  Courcy  as  a  lover,  never  once  entered  her  imagina- 
tion. Captain  Montreville  was  more  clear  sigliled ;  and  hence  a- 
rose  much  of  tlie  pleasure  which  he  took  in  Do  Courcy's  visits. — 
Not  that  he  was  more  knowing  in  the  mysteries  of  love  than  his 
daughter;  but  he  took  it  for  granted,  that  no  moital  could  with- 
stand her  attractions;  and  lie  was  pursuaded  that  ISaura  would  not 
withhold  her  heart,  where  she  so  freelv  expressed  approbation. 
This  opmionwas  a  proof  of  the  justice  of  the  Captain's  former  con- 
fession, "  that  women  were  creatures  he  did  not  undei"stand." 

Laura  had  never  praised  Hargrave.  She  never  shrunk  f  om  De 
Courcy's  eye, — she  never  felt  embarrassed  by  his  presence, — she 
treated  him  with  the  frankness  of  a  sister ;  and  tliough  she  reser- 
ved her  commendations  for  his  absence,  she  waited  only  for  Uiat 
to  bestow  them  with  all  the  warmth  which  his  own  merit  and  liis 
attention  to  her  father  could  demand. 

Meanwhile  the  Captain  did  not,  by  a  premature  disclosure  of  his 
hopes,  endanger  their  completion  ;  and  De  Courcy  continued  un- 
conciously  to  foster  in  his  bosom,  a  passion  that  was  destined  to 
-destroy  his  peace. 


CHAPTER  Xlir. 

The  picture  at  last  was  finished,  and  Laura  hersclt,  accompa- 
nied it  to  the  print-shop.  Wilkins  immediately  delivemd  to  lier 
the  price,  which,  he  said,  had  been  for  some  time  in  his  hands.  It 
now  occurred  to  Laura  to  ask  who  had  been  the  purchaser  of  her 
work.     **  Why  Ma'am,"  said  Wilkins,  "the  gentleman  desired  me 

not  to  mention  his  name."'     **  Indeed  !'*said  Laura,  surprised. 

''  These  were  his  orders,  Ma'am,  but  I  shouldn't  think  tliere  could 
be  any  great  harm  in  telling  it  just  to  you  Ma'am."     ♦<  I   ha-ve  }  (.■ 
wish  txyhear  it,"  said  Laura,  with  a  look  which  compelled  the  coiifi 
dent  to*mwilling  discretion  ;  and  again  thanking  him  for  the  tro-' 
ble  he  had  taken,  she  returned  home.     The   ti'Uth  was,  t!)4it  p - 

Vol.  I.  H 


86 

Coiircy  had  foreseen  the  probability  of  Laura's  question ;  xnd  a- 
verse  io  be  known  to  her  under  a  character  that  savoured  of  pat- 
ronag-e  and  protection,  had  forbidden  the  shop-keeper  to  mention 
who  htid  purchased  the  pictures. 

Ag-uin  did  Laura,  delighted,  present  te  her  father  the  produce  of 
i)er labours,  her  warm  heart  glowing' \vith  the  joys  of  usefulness. 
i3ut  not  as  formerly  did  he  with  pleasure  receiive  the  gift.  With 
•he  fretfulness  of  disease,  he  refused  to  share  in  her  satisfaction. 
Through  the  gloom  of  melancholy,  every  object  appeared  distorted; 
and  Captain  Montreville  saw  in  his  daug-hver's  well-earned  trea- 
sure only  the  wages  of  degrading  toil.  "It  is  hard,  very  hard," 
said  he  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  that  you,  my  lovely  child,  the  descen- 
dant of  such  a  family,  should  be  dependent  on  your  daily  labour 
for  your  support."  "  Oh  call  it  not  hard,  my  dear  father,"  cried 
Laura .  '^  Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks  to  your  kind  foresight,  which. 
In  teaching  me  this  blessed  art,  secured  to  me  the  only  real  mdc- 
pcndence,  by  making  me  independent  of  allbutmy  own  exertions." 
"  Child,*'  said  Montreville,  fretfully,  "there  is  an  entlxusiasm about 
you  that  will  draw  you  into  ten  tliousand  errors — you  are  quite 
mistaken  in  fancying  yourself  independent  Youi*  boasted  art  de- 
pends upon  the  taste,  the  very  caprice  of  the  public  for  its  reward; 
and  you,  of  course,  upon  the  same  caprice  for  your  verj' existence." 
"  It  is- true,"  answered  Laura  mildly,  "  that  my  success  depends 
vipon  taste,  and  that  the  public  taste  is  capricious;  but  some,  I 
should  hope,  would  never  be  wanting,  who  could  value  and  reward 
;he  labours  of  industry— you  observe,"  added  she  with  a  smile, 
'« that  I  rest  nothing^  upon  genius."  "  Be  that  as  it  may,*'  returned 
Captain  Montreville,  with  increasing-  querulousness,  **  I  cannot  en- 
dure to  see  you  degraded  into  an  artist,  and,  therefore,  I  desire 
there  may  be  no  more  of  this  traffic." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Montreville  had  ever  resorted  to  the 
method  well  known  and  approved  by  those  persons  of  both  sexes, 
who,  being  more  accustomed  to  the  exercise  of  authority  than  of 
argument,  choose  to  wield  the  weapon  in  the  use  of  which  prac- 
tice has  made  them  the  most  expert.  Laura  looked  at  him  with 
afTectionate  concern—"  Alas  !"  thought  she,  "  if  bodily  disease  is 
pitiable,  how  far  more  deplorable  are  its  ravages  on  the  mind." — 
But  even  if  her  father  had  been  in  perfect  health,  she  would  not 
Iftive  chosen  the  moment  of  irritation  for  reply.  Deeply  mortified 
at  this  unexpected  prohibition,  she  yet  endeavoured  to  consider  it 
as  only  one  of  the  transient  caprices  of  illness,  and  to  find  pleasure 
in  the  thought,  that  the  hour  was  come,  when  De  Courcy's  daily 
visit  would  restore  her  father  to  sdme  degree  of  cheerfulness. 

But  De  Courcy*s  visit  made  no  one  cheerful.  He  was  himself 
melancholy  and  absent.  He  saidhe  had  only  a  few  minutes  to  spare, 
yet  lingered  above  an  hour;  often  rose  to  g^,  yet  ii*resolutely  resu- 
med his  scat.  At  last,  starting  up,  he  said,  **  the  longer  1  remain 
here,  tue  more  vmwilling  I  am  to  g-o  ;  and  yet  I  vyust  go,  without 
even  knowing  when  I  may  return.*'  "  Are  you  going  to  leave  us  ?** 
sr^.id  Montreville,  in  a  tone  of  despondency,  "then  we  shall  be  sol: 


87 

tai7  indeed."  «  I  fear,"  said  Lauva,  looking  with  kind  solicitiu!'- 
in  De  Courcy's  face,  "  that  somethinjj  distressing  calls  you  away." 
*♦  Distressing  indeed,''  said  De  Courcy.  "  My  excellent  old  f rienc? 
Mr.  Wcntworth  lias  lost  his  only  son,  and  I  must  bear  the  news  to 
the  parents.'*  "  Is  there  no  one  but  you  to  do  this  painful  office  i" 
asked  Montreville.  •'  None,"  answered  De  Courcy,  "  on  whom  i\ 
coidd  with  such  propriety  fall.  Wentworth  was  one  of  my  earli- 
est friends,  he  was  my  father's  early  friend.  I  owe  him  a  thousand 
obligations ;  and  1  would  fain,  if  it  be  possible,  soften  this  heavy 
blow.  Besides,"  added  he,  endeavouinng  to  speak  more  cheerful- 
ly "  Ihave  a  selfish  purpose  to  serve — ^I  wantto  seehowaChristiaji 
bears  misfoitune."  "  And  can  yon  fix  tio  time  for  your  retuni  r" 
asked  the  Captain,  moumfull)  .  De  Courcy  sliook  h>s  head.  «  Voi- 
will  not  return  while  your  presence  is  necessary  to  Mr.  Wcntworth," 
said  Laura,  less  anxious  to  regain  De  Courcy's  society,  than  that  he 
should  support  the  character  of  benevolence  with  wliich  her  ima- 
gination liad  justly  vested  him.  Grieved  by  the  prospect  of  losinp; 
his  companion,  fretted  by  an  indefinite  idea  that  he  v/as  wrong  hx 
his  ungracious  rejection  of  his  daughter's  efibrts  to  serve  him,  a- 
shamed  of  his  distempered  selfishness,  yet  unable  to  conquer  it. 
Captain  Montreville  naturally  became  more  peevish ;  for  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  acted  wrong,  without  the  resolution  to  repair 
the  fault,  is  what  no  temper  can  stand.  "  Your  charity  is  mighty 
excursive  Laura,'*  said  he.  **  If  Mr.De  Courcy  delays  his  return 
long,  I  shall  proiiably  not  live  to  profit  by  it.'*  Laura,  whose  sweet- 
netss  no  captious  expressions  could  ruffle,  would  hr.ve  spoken  to 
tijrn  her  father's  view  to  brighter  prospects  ;  but  tiie  rising  sob 
9.^ipl;ed  her  voice,  and  cur,tesying  hastily  to  De  Courcv,  slie  Icf : 
t^9  5001^1.  De  Courcy  now  no  longer  found  it  diihcult  to  de- 
pai:t.  ij^  soon  bade  the  Captain  farewell,  promising  to  renirn  as 
sx>6n  as  it  was  possible,  though  he  had  no  great  faith  in  Montre- 
ville's  dismal  prediction,  uttered  in  the  true  spirit  of  hypochon- 
driasis, that  he  would  come  but  to  lay  his  head  in  the  gprave. 
'  As  he  was  descending  the  stairs,  Laura,  who  never  iorgot  in  scI 
{ish  feeling  to  provide  for  the  comfort  of  others,  followed  him,  to 
beg  that  when  he  had  leisure,  he  would  write  to  her  father.  Lau- 
ra blushed  and  hesitated  as  she  made  tliis  request,  not  because  she 
had  in  making  it  any  selfish  motive  whatever,  but  purely  because 
she  was  unused  to  ask  favours.  Flattered  by  the  request,  bu- 
much  more  by  her  confusion,  the  countenance  of  De  Courcy  glo<v- 
ed  with  pleasure.  '*  Certainly  I  shall  write,"'  said  he  with  grea- 
animation,  *«  if  you — I  mean  if  Captain  Montreville  wish  it.'  These 
words,  and  the  tone  iii  which  tliey  were  uttered,  made  Laura  di- 
rect a  look  of  inquiry  to  the  speaker's  face,  where  his  thoughts 
were  distinctly  legible;  and  she  no  sooner  read  them  than 
stately  and  displeased,  she  drew  back.  "  1  believe  it  will  give  my 
latlier  pleasure  to  hear  from  you,  sir,"  said  she,  and  coldlv  turned 
away.  «« Is  tliere  no  man,"  thought  she,  "  exempt  from  this  des- 
picable vanity — from  the  insignificant  Warren  to  the  respectabJo 
uo  Courcy  T'    Poor  Montague  would  fain  have  besought  her  for 


88 

v^ivoiess  ibr  bis   presumption   in  supposing*  it  possible  that: 
could  have  any  pleasure  in  hearing-  of  him  ;  but  the  look  witbi'] 
which  she  turned  from  him  ;  left  him  no  courag-e  to  speak  to  her 
again,  and  he  mournfully  pursued  his  way  to  Audley  Street. 

He  was  scarcely  gone  when  Warren  called,  and  Laura,  very  lit- 
tle disposed  for  his  company,  took  shelter  in  her  own  room.  Her 
father,  however,  suffered  no  inconvenience  from  being  left  alone  to 
ihe  task. of  entertaining  his  visitor,  for  Warren  found  means  to 
make  the  conversation  sufficiently  interesting. 

He  began  by  lamenting  the  Captain's  long  detention  from  his 
borne,  and  condoled  with  him  upon  the  effects  which  London  air 
had  produced  upon  his  health.  'He  regretted  that  Mr.  Williams's 
Absence  from  town  had  retarded  the  final  settlement  of  Montre- 
viile's  business ;  informed  him  that  Mr.  Baynard's  executors  had 
rt}>pomted  an  agent  to  inspect  his  papers  ;  and  finally,  surprised 
lira  by  an  unconditional  offer  to  sign  a  new  bond  for  the  annuity. 
rfc  could  not  bear,  he  said,  to  think  of  the  Captain's  being  detain- 
r.d  in  London  to  the  prejudice  of  his  health,  especially  as  it  was 
evident  that?Jibs  Montreville's  suffered  from  the  same  cause.  He 
begged  that  a  regidar  bond  might  be  drawn  up,  which  he  would 
sign  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  which  he  would  trust  to  the  Cap- 
tain's honour  to  destroy,  if  it  sliould  be  found  that  the  1500/.  men- 
tioned as  the  price  of  the  annuity,  bad  never  been  paid. 

At  this  generous  proposal,  surprise  and  joy  almost  deprived 
Montrevilleof  the  power  of  utterance  ;  gratefully  clasping  War- 
ren's hand,  "  Oh,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  you  have,  I  hope,  secured  an 
independen.ce  for  my  child.  I  thank  you—  with  what  fervour,  you 
can  never  know  till  you  are  yourself  a  father.'*  Seemingly  anxious 
'o  escape  from  his  thanks,  Warren  again  promised  that  he  would 
be  refidy  to  sign  the  bond  on  the  following  day,  or  as  soon  as  it  \t-as 
ready  for  signature.  Captain  Montreville  again  began  to  make  ac- 
knowledgments, but  Warren,  who  appeared  rather  distressed  than 
gratifiedby  them,  took  his  leave,  and  left  the  Captain  to  the  joyful 
-ask  of  communicating  the  news  to  Laura. 

She  listened  witlf  grateful  pleasure,  "  How  much  have  I  bet  n 
to  blame,"  said  she,  "  for  allowing  myself  to  believe  that  a  little 
vanity  necessarily  excluded  every  kmd  and  generous  fueling  r 
What  a  pity  it  is  that  this  man  should  condescend  to  such  an  effe- 
minate attention  to  trifles  ?"  Lost  to  the  expectation,  almost  to 
ihe  desire  of  seeing  Hargrave,  she  had  now  n6  tie  to  London,  but 
one  which  was  soon  to  be  broken,  for  Mrs.  and  Miss  De  Courcy 
.vere  about  to  return  to  Norwood.  With  almost  unmixed  satis- 
faction,  therefore,  she  heard  her  father  declare,  that  in  less  than  a 
week  he  should  be  on  his  way  to  Scotland.  With  pleasure  she 
looked  forward  to  revisiting  her  dear  Glenalbert,  and  anticipated 
the  eflects  of  its  quiet  shades  and  healthful  air  upon  her  father. — 
Already  she  beheld  her  home,  peaceful  and  inviting,  as  when, 
from  the  hill  that  sheltered  it,  she  last  looked  back  upon  its  sira- 
plig  beauties.  Slie  heard  the  ripple  of  its  waters ;  she  trod  the 
^y(^^kno^vn  path  ;  m.ct  the  kind  fumiUar  face,  and  libtcaed  to  the 


F^ 


89 

cordial  welcome,   with  such  joy  as  they  feel  who  return  from  the' 
land  of  strangers. 

Nor  was  Montreville  less  pleased  with  tlie  prospects  of  retur;; 
ing-  to  his  accustomed  comforts  and  employments — of  feeling  him- 
self once  more  among  objects  which  he  could  call  his  own.  His 
own!  There  waSmagicintlie  word, that  transformed  the  cottage 
at  Glensflbert  into  a  fairy  palace — the  garden  and  the  farm  into  a 
little  \roi-ld.  To  leave  London  interfered  indeed  with  his  hopes  ot 
De  Coui'cy  as  a  lover  for  his  daughter ;  but  he  doubted  not  that  the 
impression  was  already  made,  and  that  Montague  would  follov,- 
Laura  to  Scotland. 

His  mind  suddenly  relieved  from  anxiety,  his  spirits  rose,  all  his 
constitutional  good  nature  returned,  and  he  caressed  his  daughter 
with  a  fondness  that  seemed  intended  to  atone  for  the  captious  be- 
haviour of  the  morning.  At  dinner  he  called  for  wine,  a  luxury, 
in  wMch  he  rarely  indulged,  drank  to  their  safe  arrival  at  Glenal- 
bert,  and  obfiged  Laura  to  pledge  him  to  the  health  of  Warren. 
To  witness  her  father's  cheerfulness  was  a  j)leasure  which  Laurri 
had' of  late  tasted  so  sparingly,  that  it  had  the  most  exhilarating 
effect  upon  her  spirits  ;  and  neither  De  Courcy  nor  Hai*gi*ave  woukl 
have  been  much  gratified,  could  they  have  seen  the  gaiety  with 
Which  she  supported  Uie  absence  of  tlie  one,  and  the  neglect  of 
tfic'other.     '       ' 

She  was  beginning  to  enjoy  one  of  those  cheerful  domestic 
evenings  which  had  always  been  her  delight,  when  Miss  Dawkins 
came  to  propose  that  she  should  accompany  her  and  her  mother 
oh  k  visit  to  Mrs.  Jones.  Laura  would  have  excused  herself,  by 
saj'injg,  that  she  could  not  leave  her  father  alone ;  but  the  Captain 
insi^d'upon  her  going,  antl  declared  that  he  would  himself  be 
tjf  thfe-^arty.  She  had  therefore  no  apology,  and  deprived  of  the 
ainui^emeiit  which  she  would  have  preferred,  contentedly  betook 
herself  to  that  which  was  within  her  reaih.  She  did  not  sit  in  si- 
feiit  contemplation  of  her  bwn  superiority,  or  of  the  vulgarity  of 
ller  companions  ;'  nor  did  she  introduce  topics  of  conversatioit 
talculated  to  illustrate  either ;  but  having  observed  that  even  the 
ttiost  i^orknt  have  some  subject  on  which  they  can  talk  with  ease 
knd  pleasure,  and  6ven  be  heard  with  advantage,  she  suffered 
lothefs  to  lead  the  discourse,  tightly  conjecturing  that  they  would 
jgUide  it  to  the  dhannel  which  tiiey  judged  most  favoiu-able  to  their 
own  powers.  She  was  soon  engaged  with  Mrs.  Duwkins  in  a  dis- 
sertation on  various  branches  of  household  economy,  and  to  the 
e».ei^al  degi-adation  of  her  charactet  as  a  heroine,  actually  listened 
with  interest  to  the  means  of  improving  the  cleanliness,  beauty, 
iind  comfort  of  her  dv,  cllmg. 

"\  Mrs.  Jones  wiis  highly  flattered  hy  the  Captain's  visit,  and  exer- 
ted herself  to  entertain  hini,  her  hiisband  being  inclined  to  tacitur- 
nity by  a  reason  which  Bi  hop  Butler  has  pronounced  to  be  a  good 
one  Perceiving  the  t  Montreville  was  an  Enghshman,  she  conclud- 
ed that  nothing  but  dire  necessity  could  have  exiled  him  to  Scotland. 
She  in^ivUred  what  town  lie  liye^  '^ ;  and  being  answered  th;4t  his 
'    ■ H  2   ■    -•  ■    ^ 


^  •  :  ■■■■  -l/^^ 

90 

i'csidence  was  many  miles  distant  from  any  to vvii,  siie  held  up  ne; 
hands  in  pity  and  amazement.  But  when  she  heard  tliat  Montre- 
villc  had  been  obliged  to  learn  the  language  of  the  Highlands,  and  that 
it  was  Laura's  vernacular  tongue,  she  burst  into  an  exclamation  of 
'Aouder.  "  Mercy  upon  me,'*  cried  she,  "  can  you  make  that  out- 
l.md.sii  spluttering  so  as  them  savages  can  know  what  you  says  ? — 
Well,  if  I  had  been  among  them  a  thousand  years,  I  should  never 
have  made  out  a  word  of  tlieir  gibberish." 

"  The  sound  of  it  is  very  uncouth  to  a  stranger,"  said  Captain  , 
Montreville,  "  but  now  I  have  learnt  to  like  it/'  "  And  do  them 
their  wild  men  make  you  wear  them  little  red  and  green  petd-  I 
coats  ?''  asked  Mrs  Jones,  in  a  tone  of  compassionate  inquiry. — 
*'  Oh  no,"  said  Captain  Montreville,"  "  they  never  interfered  with 
my  dress.  But  you  seem  quite  acquainted  with  the  Highlands. — 
M:iy  I  ask  if  you  have  been  there  ?"  Ay,  that  I  have,  to  my  sorrow," 
said  Mrs.  Jones  -,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  recount  her  adven- 
tures, pretty  nearly  in  the  same  terms  as  she  had  formei'ly  done  to 
Laura.  **  And  what  was  the  name  of  this  unfortunate  place  ?"  in- 
quired the  Captain,  when,  having  narrated  the  deficiency  of  hot 
rolls,  Mrs.  Jones  made  the  pause  in  which  her  auditors  were  accus- 
tomed to  express  their  astonishment  and  horror.  "  That  was  what 
1  asked  the  waiter  often  and  often."  replied  she,  **  but  I  never  could 
muke  head  or  tail  of  what  he  said.  Sometimes  it  sounded  like  A 
rookery  ;  sometimes  like  one  thing,  sometimes  like  another.  So  I 
takes  the  rood-book  and  looks  it  out,  ad  it  looked  something  like 
A  rasher,  only  n  ot  right  spelt  So,  thinks  I,  they'll  call  it  J  rasher, 
because  there  is  good  bacon  here  ;  and  I  asked  the  man  if  they 
Acre  famous  for  pigs  ;  and  he  said,  no,  they  got  all  their  pigs  from 
the  manufactory  in  Glasgow,  and  that  they  weren't  famous  for  any 
thing  but  fresh  herrings,  as  are  catched  in  that  black  Loch-Lomond, 
%vhere  they  wanted  me  to  go." 

*'  Kate,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  se  ting  down  his  tea-cup,  and  settling 
bis  hands  upon  his  knees,  **  you  know  I  think  you're  wrong  about 
them  herrings."  "  Mr.  Jones,"  returned  the  lady,  with  a  look  that 
shewed  that  the  herrings  had  been  the  subject  of  former  alterca- 
tion, *'  for  certain  the  waiter  tdid  me  that  they  came  out  of  the  loch, 
and  to  what  purpose  should  he  tell  lies  about  it  ?''  *'  I  teHs  you, 
Kate,  that  herrings  come  out  of  the  sea,"  said  Mr..  Jones.  "  Well, 
that  loch  is  a  great  fresh  water  sea,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  "  Out  of 
the  salt  sea,"  insisted  Mr.  Jones.  "  Ay,"  said  Mrs  Jones,  "  them 
salt  herrings  as  we  gets  here,  but  it  stands  to  reason,  Mr.  Jones, 
that  the  fresh  herri  gs  should  come  out  of  fresh  water.''  "  I  say, 
cod  is  fresh,  and  does'n't  it  come  but  of  the  sea  ?  answer  me  that, 
Mrs.  Jones.''  "  It  is  no  wonder  the  cod  is  fr€sh,"  returned  the  la- 
dy, "  when  the  fishmongers  keep  fresh  water  running  on  it  day  and 
night.''  "  Kate,  it's  of  no  use  argufying,  I  say  herrings  come  out  of 
the  sea.  What  say  you.  Sir  ?"  turning  to  Captain  Montreville. — 
The  Captain  softened  his  verdict  in  the  gentleman's  favour,  by  say- 
ing, that  Mrs.  Jones  was  right  in  her  account  of  the  waiter  s  reportj 
though  the  man  in  speaking  of  **  the  loch,"  pieant  not  Loch-Lo- 


91 

mond,  but  an  arm  of  the  sex  "  I  know'd  it,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  Ui_ 
umphantly,  for  havnt  I  read  it  in  the  newspaper  as  government  oi- 
fers  a  reward  to  any  body  that'll  put  most  salt  upon  them  bcotcli 
herrings,  and  is  n't  that  what  makes  the  salt  so  dear  ?"  So  having 
settled  this  knotty  point  to  his  own  satisfaction,  Mr.  Jones  agam  ap- 
plied liimself  to  his  tea,  ^  ,      .  ^  j  ,« 

«  Did  you  return  to  Glasgow  by  the  way  of  Loch-Lomond  ? 
inquired  Captain  MontreviUe.  "  Ay,"  cried  Mrs  Jones,  "  that 
was  what  the  people  of  the  mn  wanted  us  to  do  ;  but  then  I  looked 
o»it,  and  seed  a  matter  of  forty  of  them  there  savages,  witli  me 
little  petticoats  and  red  and  white  stockings,  loitering  and  lolling 
about  the  inn-door,  doing  nothing  in  the  varsal  world,  except  wait 
till  it  was  dark  to  rob  and  murder  us  all,  bless  us  !  So,  thinks  I, 
let  me  once  get  out  from  among  you  in  a  whole  skin,  and  catch  me 
in  the  Highlands  again  :  so  as  soon  as  the  chaise  could  be  got,  we 
Tust  went  the  way  we  came."  "  Did  you  find  good  accommoda- 
tion at  Glasgow  ?"  said  the  Captain.  "  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Jones ; 
«*  but  after  ^,  Captain,  there's  no  country  like  our  own  ;— do  you 
know,  1  never  got  so  much  as  buttered  muffin  all  tlie  while  I  was 
in  Scotland  ?^ 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
Mrs.  Dawkins,  who  knowing  that  she  had  nothing  new  to  expect 
'A^  her  daughter's  memoirs  of  her  Scotish  excursion,  had  continued 
to  talk  with  Laura  apart.  "Goodness  me!'*  she  cried,  "why 
Kate,  as  sure  as  eggs,  here's  Miss  never  seed  a  play  in  all  her  life  ?" 
<'  Never  saw  a  play !  Never  saw  a  play  l"  exclaimed  the  landlord 
and  landlady  at  once.  *'  Well,  that's  so  odd ;  but  to  be  sure,  poor 
soul,  how  should  she,  among  them  there  hills."  "  Suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  "  we  should  make  a  party,  and  go  to-night.  We 
shall  be  just  in  time."  Laura  was  desirous  to  go  :  her  father  made 
no  objection  ;  and  Mr.  Jones,  with  that  feeling  of  good-natured 
self-complacency  which  most  people  have  experienced,  arising 
fi-om  the  discovery  that  another  is  new  to  a  pleasure  with  which 
he  himself  is  familiar,  offered,  as  he  expressed  it,  "to  do  the  gen- 
teel thing,  and  treat  her  himself." 

The  party  was  speedily  arranged,  and  Laura  soon  found  herself 
seated  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre.  The  scene  was  quite  new  to  her ; 
for  her  ignorance  of  public  places  was  even  greater  than  her  com- 
panions had  discovered  it  to  be.  She  was  dazzled  with  the  glare  of  the 
lights,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  company,  andconfused  with  the  mur- 
mur of  innumerable  voices  ;  but  the  curtain  rose,  and  her  atten- 
tion was  soon  confined  to  the  stage.  The  play  was  the  Gamester, 
the  most  domestic  of  our  tragedies  j  and,  in  the  inimitable  repre- 
sentation of  Mrs.  Beverly,  Laura  found  an  illusion  strong  enough 
to  absorb  for  the  time  every  faculty  of  her  soul.  Of  the  actress 
she  thought  not ;  but  she  loved  and  pitied  Mrs.  Beverly  with  a  fer- 
vour that  made  her  insensible  to  the  amusement  wliich  she  afford- 
ed to  her  companions.  Meanwhile  her  countenance,  as  beautiful, 
almost  as  expressive,  followed  every  change  in  that  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons.    She**wept  with  her  ;  listenedj  started,  rejoiced  with  her  j 


92 

uid  wben  IVIi's.  ^eyej^y  repii)sed  tUe  viUain  Stukely,  l.aiira's  ^ye? 
00  $asiied  with  **  heaven Vown  lightnings  "'  By  tWt!me  the  re. 
presentation  was  ended,  she  was  so  much  exhausted'ty  the  strength 
and  rapidity  of  her  emotions,  that  she  was  scarcely  a^il^'to  ans\\er 
to  the  questions  of  '*  How  have  you  teen  amused  ?**  and  *'  How 
didyouhke  it,"  with  Which  her  companions  all  at  once  assailed 
her.  "  Well,"  said  Miss  Julia,  when  they  were  arrived  at  hoiine, 
"  I  think  nothing  is  so  delightful  as  a  play.  I  should  like  to  go 
every  night— shouldn't  you  ?''  «*  No,"  answered  Laura.  *'  Once  or 
twice  in  a  year  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  me.  It  occupies  my 
thoughts  too  much  for  a  mere  amusement.'* 

In  the  course  of  the  two  following  days,  Laura  had  sketched 
more  than  twenty  heads  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  besides  completing  the 
preparations  for  her  journey  to  Scotland.  On  the  third,  the  Cap- 
tain, who  could  now  smile  at  his  own  imaginary  debility,  propos- 
ed to  carry  the  bond  to  receive  Mr.  Warren's  signature.  The 
fourth  was  to  be  spent  with  Mrs.  De  Courcy  ;  and  on  the  morning 
of  the  ftftli,  the  travellers  intended  to  depart. 

On  the  appointed  morning.  Captain  Montreville  set  out  on  an 
early  visit  to  Portland  Street,  gaily  telling  his  daughter  at  partmg 
tliat  he  would  return  in  an  hour  or  two,  with  her  dowry  in  his  pock- 
et- \Vhen  he  knocked  at  Mr.  Warren*s  door,  the  servant  inform- 
fid  him  tha,t  his  master  had  gone  out,  but  that  expecting  the  Cap- 
tain  to  call,  lie  had  left  a  message  to  beg  that  Montreville  would 
wait  till  he  returned,  which  would  be  very  soon. 

Ttie  Captawi  was  then  shown  into  a  back  parlour,  where  he  en- 
deavoured to  amuse  himself  with  some  books  that  were  scattered 
round  the  room.  They  consisted  of  amatory  poems  and  loose  no- 
vels, and  one  by  one  he  threw  them  aside  in  disgust,  lamendn'g  that 
one  wh»  was  capable  of  a  ki  d  and  generous  action  should  seek 
pleasure  in  such  debasing  studies.  The  room  was  hung  with  prints 
and  pictures,  but  they  partook  of  the  same  licentious  character;  and 
Montreville  shuddered,  as  the  momentary  thought  darted  acrosi 
his  mind,  that  it  was  atr^n^e  that  the  charms  of  Laura  had  made  ho 
impression  on  one  whose  libertinism  in  regard  to  her  sex  was  so  ap- 
parent. It  was  but  momentary.  "  No  !**  thought  he,  "  her  purity 
^ould  awe  the  most  licentious ;  and  I  am  uncandld,  ungrateful  to 
harbour  even  for  a  moment  such  ^h  idea  of  the  man  who  has  acted 
towards  her  and  me  with  the  most  disinterestedness." 

He  waited  long,  but  Warren  did  not  appear ;  and  he  began  to 
blame  himself  for  having  neglected  to  fix  t'^e  exact  time  of  his  visit. 
To  reime^y  this  ojnission,  he  wrang  for  writing  materials,  and  tel- 
^ng  the  servant  that  be  could  stay  no  longer,  left  a  note  to  inform^ 
.Mr.  W^rrren  that  he  would  wait  upon  him  at  twelve  o'clock  next 
day.  The  servant,  who  was  Mr  "Wan-en's  own  valet,  seemed  un- 
willing to  allow  the  Captain  to  depart,  and  asstired  him  that  he  ex- 
pected Ills  master  every  minute ;  but  Montreyille,  who  knew  that 
(there  was  no  depending  upon  the  motions  of  a  mere  man  of  plea- 
sure, would  be  detained  no  longer. 

He  ygtvmcd  home,  andlaj^ipjg.the  parlour  ej^p^y*  ^^^  leaving  it 


93 

to  seek  Laura  Ini  her  painting-room,  when  he  observed  a  letter  ly* 
ing  on  the  table  addressed  to  himself.  The  hand-uTiting"  was  knew 
to  him.  He  opened  it— the  signature  was  equally  so.  The  contents 
were  as  follows  ; — 

"  Sir, 
"  The  writer  of  this  letter  is  even  by  name  a  stranger  to  you. 
If  this  circumstance  should  induce  you  to  discredit  my  information, 
I  offer  no  proof  of  my  veracity  but  this  simple  one,  that  obviously 
no  selfish  end  can  be  served  by  my  present  interference.  Of  the 
force  of  my  motive  you  cannot  judge,  unless  you  have  yourself  lured 
to  destruction  tlie  heart  that  trusted  you, — seen  it  refuse  all  comfort, 
—reject  all  reparation. — and  sink  at  l?st  in  untimely  decay.  From 
afiite  like  tliis,  though  not  sof'ened  like  this  by  anxious  tenderness, 
nor  mourned  like  this  by  remorseless  pity,  but  aggravated  by  being 
endured  for  one  incapable  of  any  tender  or  generous  feeling,  it  is 
my  purpose.  Sir,  to  save  your  daughter.  I  was  last  night  one  of  a 
party  where  her  name  was  mentioned  ; — where  she  was  described  as 
lovely,  innocent,  and  respectable ;  yet  the  person  who  so  described 
her,  scrupled  not  to  boast  of  a  plan  for  her  destruction.  In  the  hope 
(why  should  I  pretend  a  better  motive)  of  softening  the  pangs  of 
late  but  bitter  self-reproach,  by  sav  ng  one  fellow-creature  from  per- 
haps reluctant  ruin,  one  family  from  domestic  shame,  I  drew  from 
him  your  address,  and  learnt  that  to  ingratiate  himself  with  you, 
and  with  his  intended  victim,  he  has  pretended  to  offer  as  a  gift, 
what  he  knew  that  he  could  not  long  withhold.  He  means  to  take 
the  earliest  opportunity  of  inveigling  her  from  your  care,  secure, 
as  he  boasts,  of  her  pardon  in  her  attachment.  Ill,  indeed,  does 
her  character,  even  as  described  by  him,  accord  with  such  a  boast ; 
yet  even  indifference  might  prove  no  guard  against  fraud,  which, 
thus  warned,  you  may  defy  A  fear  that  my  intention  should  be 
frustrated  by  the  merited  contempt  attached  to  annonymous  informa- 
tion, inclines  me  to  add  my  name,  though  aware  that  it  can  claim  no 
authority  v/ith  a  stranger. 

I  am,  Sir, 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

"  Philip  Wilmot." 

Captain  Montreville  read  this  letter  more  than  once.  It  bore 
mar  s  of  such  sincerity  that  he  knew  not  how  to  doubt  of  tlie  intel- 
ligence it  gave;  and  he  perceived  with  dismay,  that  the  business 
which  he  had  considered  as  closed,  was  as  far  a  ever  from  a  con- 
clusion; for  how  could  he  accept  a  favour  which  he  had  been  warned 
to  consider  as  the  wages  of  dishonour?  For  Laura  he  had  indeed 
no  fear.  She  was  no  less  safe  in  her  own  virtue  and  discretion,  than 
in  the  contemptuous  pity  with  which  she  regarded  Warren.  This 
letter  would  put  her  upon  her  guard  against  leaving  the  house  with 
him,  which  Captain  Montreville  now  recollected  that  he  had  often 
solicited  her  to  do,  upon  pretence  of  taking  the  air  in  his   cun-icle. 

But  must  he  Still  linger  in  London;  stijl  be  cheated  witli  vain 


94 

hopes ;  stillfear.  for  the  futwe  subsistence  of  his  cluld ;  still  ap- 
proach tlie  very  verge  of  poverty ;  perhaps  be  obliged  tp  defepd  his 
rights  by  a  tedious  law-suit  ?  Bis  heart  sunk  at  tlie  prospect,  and 
he  tlirew  himself  on  a  seat,  disconsolate  and  cheerless. 

He  had  been  long  in  the  habit  of  seeking  relief  from  every  pain- 
ful feeling  in  the  tenderness  of  Laura,— of  finding  in  her  enduring 
spirit  a  support  to  the  weakness  of  his  own  ;  and  he  now  sought  her 
in  the  conviction  that  she  would  either  discover  some  advantage  to 
be  drawn  from  this  disappointment,  or  hghten  it  to  him  by  her  af- 
fectionate sympathy.  He  knocked  at  the  door-  She  did  not  ans- 
wer. He  called  her. — All  was  silent.  He  rang  the  hell,  and  in- 
quired whether  she  was  below,  and  was  answered  that  she  had  gone 
put  with  Mr.  Warren  in  his  curricle  two  hours  before.  The  unfor- 
tunate father  heard  no  morp.  Wildly  striking  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  "She  is  lost!"  he  cried,  and  sunk  to  the  ground.  The 
blood  burst  violently  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  and  he  became  in- 
sensible. 

The  family  vfcrc  soon  assembled  round  him  ;  and  a  surgeon  be- 
ing procured,  he  declared  that  lyipntreyille  had  burst  a  blood  vessel^ 
and  that  nothing  but  the  utmost  care  and  quiet  could  save  his  hfe. 
3(f rs.  Dawkins  with  grea,t  humanity,  attended  him  herself,  venting 
in  wliispers  to  the  surgepn  her  compassion,  fbr  Montreville,  and  her 
indignation  gainst  thp  unnatural  desertion  of  Laura,  whom  she 
abus  d  as  a  metho  'istocal  hypocrite,  against  whom  her  wrath  was 
the  stronger  because  she  could  n^v.er  ha,ve  suspected  her. 

Montreville  no  sooner  returned  to  recollection,  than  he  declared 
liis  resolution  instantly  to  set  oir  in  search:^  lys  child  In  vain  did 
the  surgeon  ex,ppstulate,  and  assure  him  Xl^aX  lus  life  \yould  be  the 
forfeit :  his  only  answer  was,  "  Why  should  I  live  ?  She  is  lost.'* 
I,n  pursuance  of  his  design,  he  tried  to  rise  from  the  bed  on  which 
he  had  been  laid  ;  but  exliausted  nature  refused  to  second  him,  and 
again  he  sunk  back  insensible- 

\Yhen  :^J[ontreville  called  in  Portland  Street,  the  s^ryaiiithad  de- 
ceived h;in  in  saying  that  Warren  was  not  at  home.  He  was  not 
only  in  the  house,  but  expecting  the  Captain's  visit,  and  prepared 
to  take  advantage  of  it,  for  the  accomphshment  of  tlie  honourable 
scheme  of  which  he  had  boasted  to  his  associates.  As  soon,  there- 
fore, as  the  servant  had  disposed  of  ^Montreville,  Warren  mounted 
his  curricle,  which  v/as  in  waiting  at  a  li'.tle  distance,  and  driving 
to  Ml  s.  Dawkins's,  informed  Laura  that  he  had  been  sent  to  h^ 
by  her  father,  who  proposed  carrying  her  to  see  the  British  Muse- 
um, and  for  that  purpose  was  waiting  her  arrival  in  Portland  Street. 
Entirely  unsuspicious  of  any  design,  Laura  accompanied  him  with- 
out hesitation  ;  and  though  Portland  Street  appeared  to  her  great- 
ly more  distant  than  she  had  imagined  it,  it  was  not  till  havmg  ta- 
ken  innumerable  turns,  she  found  herself  in  an  open  road,  that  she 
began  to  suspect  her  conductor  of  having  deceived  her. 

"  Whither  have  you  taken  me,  Mr.  Warren  !"  she  inquired  : — 
**  This  road  does  not  lead  to  Portland  Street."  "  Oli  yes,  it  does," 
answered  Warren,  "  only  the  tAftcl  is  a  Uttl^  circuitous.'*    "  Let  us 


m. 


95 


immediately  return  to  Hjp^traight  one  then,*'  said  Lanra.  "  My 
father  will  be  alarmed,  and  conclude  that  some  accident  has  hap- 
pened to  us."  "  Surely,  my  charming-  Miss  Montreville,"  said 
Warren,  still  continuing-  to  drive  on,  "  you  do  not  fear  to  trust 
yourself  with  me."  "J?ear^'o«/"  repeated  Laura,  with  involunta- 
ry disdain.  "  No,  but  I  am  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  has  incourag- 
ed  you  to  make  me  the  companion  of  so  silly  a  frolic,  1  suppose 
you  Inean  this  for  an  ingenious  joke  \ipon  my  father."  "  No,  'pon 
ray  soul,"  said  the  beau,  a  little  alarmed  by  the  sternness  of  her 
'manner.  "  I  meant  nothing  but  to  have  an  opportunity  of  telling 
you  that  I  am  quite  in  love  with  you, — dying  for  you,— faith  1  am," 
*'  You  should  first  have  ascertained,"  answered  Laura,  with  ineffia- 
ble  scorn,  **  whether  1  was  likely  to  think  the  secret  worth  a  hear- 
ing.    I  desire  you  wUl  instantly  return." 

The  perfect  composure  of  Laura's  look  and  manner  (for  feelmg 
no  alarm  she  shewed  none)  made  Warren  conclude  that  she  was 
not  averse  to  being  detained;  and  he  thought  it  only  necessary 
that  he  should  continue  to  moke  love,  to  induce  her  quietly  to  sub- 
mit to  go  on  for  another  half  mile,  which  would  bring  them  to  a 
•place  where  he  thought  she  would  be  secure.  He  began,  there- 
fore, to  act  the  lover  with  all  tlie  energy  he  could  muster ;  but 
'taura  interrupted  him.  "  It  is  a  pity,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  of 
calm  contempt,  "  to  put  a  stop  to  such  well-timed  gallantry,  which 
is  indeed  just  such  as  I  should  have  expected  from  Mr.  Warren's 
sense  and  delicacy.  But  I  would  not  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Warren's 
'  raptures,  nor  all  else  that  he  has  to  offer,  give  my  father  the  most 
ittomentary  pain,  and  therefore  if  you  do  not  suffer  me  to  aHght 
this  instant,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  claim  the  assistance  of  passengers 
on  an  occasion  very  little  worthy  of  their  notice."  Her  contume- 
li<»us  mahner  entirely  undeceived  her  companion  in  regard  to  her 
sentiments ;  but  it  had  no  other  effect  upon  him,  except  that  of 
adding  revenge  to  the  number  of  his  incitements  ;  and  perceiving 
that  they  were  now  at  a  short  distance  from  the  house  whither  he 
intended  to  convey  her,  he  continued  to  pursue  his  way. 

Laura  now  rose  from  her  seat,  and  seizing  the  reins  with  a  force 
that  made  the  horses  rear,  she  coolly  chose  that  moment  to  spring 
from  the  curricle  ;  and  walked  back  towards  the  town,  leaving  hc-r 
inamorato  in  the  utmost  astonishment  at  her  self-possession,  as  well 
as  rtige  at  her  disdainful  treatment. 

She  proceeded  till  she  came  to  a  decent-looking  shop,  where  she 
entered ;  and,  begging  permission  to  sit  down,  dispatched  one  of 
the  shop-bo}  s  in  search  of  a  hackney-coach.  A  carriage  was  soon 
procured,  and  Lu.ira,  concluding  that  her  father,  tired  of  waiting 
for  her,  must  have  left  Portland  Street,  desired  to  be  driven  direct- 
ly home. 

As  she  entered  the  house,  she  was  met  by  Mrs.  Dawkins.  "  So 
M-ss,"  cried  she,  "  you  have  made  a  fine  spot  of  work  on't.  You 
h:ivc  murdered  your  father  "  "  Good  heavens  1"  cried  Laura,  tur- 
ning as  pale  as  deatli,  "  -vhat  is  it  you  mean  ?  where  is  my  father  ?'* 
'*  Yoi:r  fatlier  is  on  his  death-bed  Miss,  and  you  may  thank  your 


96 

.-  0 _ 

morning  ride  for  it.  Thinking  you  wes^^^rfl^  lie  burst  a  blood-ves- 
sel in  the  fright,  and  the  doctor  says,  tlpe'Teast  stir  in  the  world  will 
finish  him.'* 

Laura  turned  sick  to  death.  Cold  drops  stood  upon  her  fore- 
head ;  and  she  shook  in  every  limb.  She  ihade  an  instinctive  at- 
tempt to  ascend  the  stair  ;  but  her  strength  failed  hea-,  and 
she  sunk  upon  the  steps.  The  sight  of  her  agony  changed 
in  a  moment  Mrs.  Dawkins'  indignation  into  pity.  "Don't 
take  on  so.  Miss,"  said  she,  "  to  be  sure  you  did'ntmeanit.  If  he 
is  kept  quiet,  he  may  mend  still,  and  now  that  you're  come  back 
too.  By  the  bye,  I  may  as  well  run  up  and  tell  him."  "  Oh  stop  !'* 
cried  Laura,  reviving  al  once  in  the  sudden  dread  that  such  incau- 
tious news  would  desti'oy  her  father,  '*  Stay,"  said  she,  pressing 
with  one  hand  her  bursting  forehead,  while  with  the  other  she  de- 
tained Mrs.  Dawkins.  "  Let  me  think,  that  we  may  Tiot  agitate 
him.  Ch  no  !  I  cannot  ttiink ;"  and  leaning  her  head  on  Mrs. 
Dawkins'  shoulder,  she  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

These  salutary  tears  restored  her  recollection,  and  she  inquired 
whether  the  surgeon,  of  whom  Mrs.  Dawkins  had  spoken,  was 
still  in  the  house.  Being  answered,  that  he  was  in  Montreville's  a- 
partment  she  sent  to  beg  that  he  would  speak  with  her.  He  carae, 
and  she  entreated  him  to  infoi*m  her  father,  with  the  caution  which 
his  situation  required,  that  she  was  returned  and  safe.  She  follow- 
ed him  to  the  door  of  Montreville's  apartment,  and  stood  listening 
in  trembling  expectation  to  every  thing  thai  stirred  within.     At 

last  she  received  the  wished-for   summons. She   entered ;  she 

sprang  towards  the  bed.  "  My  child  !"  cried  Montreville,  and  he 
clasped  her  to  his  bosom,  and  sobbed  aloud.  ,  When  he  was  able 
to  speak,  *'  Oh  Laura,"  said  he,  *'  tell  me  again  that  you  are  safe, 
and  say  by  what  miracle,  by  what  unheard-of  mercy,  you  have  es- 
caped." "  Compose  yourself,  my  dearest  father,  for  Heaven's  sake," 
cried  Laura.  "  1  am  indeed  safe,  and  never  have  been  in  danger. 
When  Wari'en  found  that  1  refused  to  join  in  his  frolic,  he  did  not 
attempt  to  prevent  me  from  returning  home."'  She  then  briefly  re- 
lated the  affair  as  it  had  appeared  to  her,  suppressing  Warren's 
rhapsodies,  from  the  fear  of  irritating  her  father ;  and  he,  percei- 
ving that  she  considered  the  whole  as  a  frolic,  frivolous  in  its  inten- 
tion, though  dreadful  in  its  effects,  suffered  her  to  remain  in  that 
persuasion.  She  passed  the  night  by  his  bed-side,  devoting  every 
moment  of  Ms  disturbed  repose  to  fervent  prayers  for  his  reccv 
rv. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

From  feverish  and  inten-upted  sleep,  Montreville  awoke  unre- 
freshed  ;  ai.d  the  surgeon,  when  he  repeated  his  visit,  again  alarm- 
ed Laura  witii  representations  of  her  father's  danger,  andassuran- 


J^ 


97 


cea  that  nothing  but  the  most  vigilant  attention  to  his  qukt  could 
presefve  his  life.  The  anguisli  with  which  I^aura  listened  lo  thi^i 
sentence  she  suppressed,  lest  it  sljould  injure  her  father.  She  ne- 
ver approached  him  but  to  bring  comfort ;  she  spoke  to  him  cheer- 
fully, while  the  tearsforccd  themselves  to  her  eyes ;  and  smiled 
*ipon  him  while  her  heart  was  breaking-.  She  felt  what  he  must 
suffer,  should  the  thought  occur  to  him  that  he  was  about  to  leave 
h^r  to  the  world,  unfriended  and  alone  ;  and  she  never  mentioned 
his  illness  to  him  unless  with  the  voice  of  hope.  But  of  the  dan- 
ger which  she  strove  to  disguise,  Montreville  was  fully  sensible  ; 
and  though  he  forebore  to  shock  her  by  avowing  it  explicitly,  he 
could  not,  like  her,  suppress  his  fehrs.  He  would  sometimes  fer- 
vently wish  that  he  could  see  his  child  safe  intlie  protection  of  Mrs. 
Douglas ;  and  sometimes,  when  Laura  was  bcndmg  over  him  in 
the  tendcrest  sympathy,  he  woidd  clasp  her  neck,  and  cry,  with  an 
agony  that  shook  his  whole  frame,  "What — Oh  what  will  become 
of  thee !" 

He  seemed  anxious  to  know  how  long  Mrs.  Dc  Couvcy  was  to 
remain  u\  town,  and  inquired  eveiy  hour  whether  Montague  was 
not  returned.  Full  well  did  Laura  guess  the  mournful  me;ining- 1^' 
these  questions.  Full  well  did  they  remind  her,  that  wlien  the  Dc 
('ourcy  family  left  London,  she  v.'ith  her  dying  father  would amidii': 
this  populous  wilderness  be  alone.  She  anticipated  the  last  scene 
of  this  sad  tragedy  ;  when,  amidst  busy  thousands,  a  senseless 
corpse  would  be  her  sole  companion.  She  looked  forward  to  its 
close,  when  even  this  sad  society  v.  ould  be  witlidrawn.  Human 
fortitude  could  not  support  the  prospect;  and  she  would  rush  from 
her  father's  presence,  to  give  vent  to  agonies  of  son-ow. 

But  the  piety  of  Laura  could  half-invest  misfonunc  with  thf 
cliaracter  of  blessing;  as  the  mists  that  rise  to  darken  the  cvcrning- 
Sim  are  themselves  tinged  v/ith  his  glory.  She  called  to  mijul  the 
gracious  assurance  wliich  marks  the  afflicted  Avho  .suffer  not  hv 
their  own  guilt  or  folly  as  the  favoured  of  Heaven  ;  and  tlie  more 
her  earthly  connexions  seemed  dissolving,  the  more  did  sivc  strive 
to  acquaint  herself  with  Him,  from  v.hose  care  no  accident  can  ••c 
ver.  To  this  care  she  fervently  committed  her  f..ther ;  pru-,  Ir.-- 
that  no  selfish  indulgence  of  b,cr  grief  might  embUter  his  dtp:irt';irc'  ; 
and  resolving  by  her  fortitude  to  convince  hiui  that  she  was  afile  »'; 
struggle  with  the  storm  from  wiiich  he  was  tio  longer  to  slieltcr 
her. 

The  day  succeeding  that  on  which  :MontrevUle  was  taken  ill  had 
been  «et  apart  for  a  farewell  visit  to  Mrs.De  Courcy;  and  Laura's 
note  of  mournful  apology,  was  answered  by  u  kind  visit  ironi  Har- 
riet. Unconscious  of  the  chief  cause  of  her  father's  impatience 
for  Montague's  return,  Laura  wishing  to  be  the  hearer  of  inifU;. 
gcnce  which  she  knew  would  clieer  him,  inquired  airxicusly  wlicw 
M'ss  De  Courcy  expected  her  brother.  15ut  De  Covircy's  motions 
depended  upon  tiie  spirits  of  his  venerable  friend,  and  Harriet 
knew  not  when  he  might  be  able  to  leave  Mr.  Wentworth.  It  was 
even  uncertain  whether  for  th«  present  he  wouhiTelWTi  to  town  £*- 

vb-f-.  <.  I 


1^ 

» 

.•ul,  a;,  in  auotlier  week  Mrs.  De  Courcy  meant  to  set  out  for  Nor- 
wood.  Laura  softened  this  unpleasing  news  to  her  fiather;  she 
lid  not  niimc  the  particular  time  of  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  departure, 
and.  she  suffered  him  still  confidently  to  expect  the "  return  of  hig 
lavourite. 

Tlic  next  day  biouglit  a  letter  from  De  Courcy  himself,  full  of 
affectionate  solicitude  for  the  Captain's  health  and  spirits  ;  but  evi- 
dently written  in  ignorance  of  the  fatal  change  that  had  takenplace 
since  Iiis  departure.  Li  this  letter  the  name  of  Laura  was  not 
jpentioned,  not  even  in  a  common  compliment,  and  Montreville  re- 
marked to  her  this  omission. «*  He  has  forg-ottcn  it,"  answered 

Laura, — "  his  warm  heart  is  full  of  his  fi-iend's  distress  and  yours, 
and  has  not  room  for  mere  ceremony."  "I  hope,"  said  Montre- 
ville,  emphatically,  "  that  is  not  the  reason."  "  AVhat  is  then  the 
reason?"  inquired  Laura;  but  Montreville  did  not  speak,  and  she 
'Jioug'ht  no  more  of  De  Courcy's  little  omission. 

Her  father,  indeed,  for  the  present,  occupied  almost  all  her 
earthly  thoug'hts,  and. even  her  prayers  rose  more  frequently  for 
him  than  for  herself.  Except  during-  the  visits  of  the  surgeon,  she 
was  JNIontrcville's  sole  attendant ;  and,  regardless  of  fatigue,  she 
passed,  every  night  by  his  bed-side,  every  day  in  ministering  to  his 
c«mfort.  It^  worn  out  with  watcliing,  she  dropt  asleep,  she  started 
again  at  his  slightest  motion,  and  obstinately  refused  to  seek  .'n  her 
own  chamber  a  less  interrupted  repose.  "  No,"  thoug'ht  she,  "  let 
my  strength  serve  me  while  1  have  duties  to  perform,  while  yet  my 
fatlier  Uves  to  need  my  eflbrts ;  then  may  I  be  peraiitted  to  smk  to 
early  rest,  and  the  weary  lalBourer,  yet  while  it  is  but  morning,  be 
culled  to  receive  his  hire." 

The  desertion  of  Hargravc,  whom  she  had  loved  with  all  the  ar- 
loui-  of  a  warm  heart  and  a  fervid  ims  gination,  the  death  of  her 
iather  so  fast  approaching,  her  separation  from  every  living  being 
with  whom  she  could  claim  friendship  or  kindred,  seemed  signals 
for  her  to  withdi-aw  her  affections  from  a  world  where  she  would 
soon  have  nothing  left  to  love  or  to  cherish.  "  And  be  it  so,"  thought 
she, — "let  me  no  longer  grovel  here  m  search  of  objects  which 
.<.-ai'th  has  not  to  offer — objects  fitted  for  unbotmded  and  unchange- 
able regard.  Nor  let  me  peevishly  reject  what  this  world  really 
has  to  give,  the  opportunity  to  prepare  fora  better.  This  it  bestows 
even  on  me  ;  and  a  few  childish  baubles  arc  all  else  tluit  it  reserves 
for  those  who  worship  it  with  all  their  soul,  and  strength  and 
mind."  ' 

No  mortal  ean  exist  without  forming  some  wish  or  hope.  Laura 
hoped  that  she  sliould  live  while  she  could  be  uscfid  to  l.er  father  ; 
and  .she  'oishtd  that  she  might  not  survive  him.  One  only  other 
wish  she  had,  and  that  was  ibr  De  Courcy's  return;  for  Montre- 
ville,  whose  spirits  more  than  shaved  his  bodily  larguor,  now  sel- 
dom »poke,  but  to  express  his  longing  for  the  presence  of  his  fa- 
vourite. Laura  continued  to  cheer  him  with  a  hoi)e  which  she 
herself  no  longer  felt ;  for  now  three  days  only  remained  ere  Mrs , 
Dc  Courcy  was  to  quit.  London,    The  departure  of  ihcir  friende 


ILl-^  IfCcw^u  )^mic 


iv 


Laura  resolved  to  conceal  from  her  fatlier,  that,  beiie\ in^  them  w 
be  near,  he  might  feel  hiraselfthclcssforloni ;  and  thi?i  she  thought 
mig-ht  be  pi-acticablt,  as  he  had  never  since  his  illness  expres:;- 
ed  any  wish  to  qQit  his  bed,  or  to  see  Miss  De  Courcy  when  she 
came. 

In  Montrerillc*s  darkened  apartment,  v.itho  at  occupation  but  in 
her  cares  for  liim,  almost  v.ithont  rest,  had  Laura  pa.ssed  a  week, 
when  she  was  one  morning  sunimQne<llVom  her  mclancholychargr, 
o  attend  a  visitor.     She  entered  tlic  parlour.     "Mr.  De  Cou3cy  :" 

to  exclaimed,  springing*  joyfully  to  meet  him,  "thank  Heaven 
you  are  come  !'*  But  not  with  eq'.ial  Vv-armth  did  De  Courcy  ac- 
ipost  her.  Tiie  repulsive  look  she  had  given  him  at  palling  v.:-.3 
still  fresh  in  his  recollection  ;  and,  with  a  respectful  distant  bow, 
he  expressed  his  sorrow  for  Captain  Montreville's  illness.  "  OU 
lie  is  ill,  indeed!'*  said  I,  lura  ;  tJie  faint  hectic  of  pleasure  fading- 

uldenly  from  her  cheek.     "  Earnestly  has  he  longed  for  yourrc- 

un  ;  and  we  beared,"  said  she,  Vvith  a  violent  eiibrt  suppressing 

'-r  tears,  "we  feared  that  you  might  not  have  come  till — till  all 
:as  over."  "Surely  Miss  lilontrcville,"  said  De  Courcy,  cxtreme- 
J3'  shocked,  "surely  you  are  causelessly  alarmed."  •*  Oh  no,"  cried 
Laura,  "  he  cannot  live  !'*  and  no  longer  able  to  contain  her  emo- 
tion, she  burst  into  a  passion  of  teai's.  Forced  entirely  from  his 
guard  by  her  grief,  Montague  threw  himself  on  tlie  scat  by  her. 
"  Dearest  of  human  beings,"  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh  that  I  could 
shield  thee  f-om  every  sorrow  1"  But  absorbed  in  her  distress ^ 
Laura  heeded  him  not  ;  and  tho  next  moment,  sensible  of  his  im 
.prudence,  he  started  from  her  side,  and  reU-eated.  to  a  distant  par: 
of  the  room. 

As  soon  as  slie  Vv'as  again  able  to  command  herself,  fshe  wcn^  U; 
inform  her  father  of  De  Courcy's  arrival.  Though  told  with  Uiw 
gentlest  caution,  Montreville  iiearu  the  news  with  er.irc  me  c:no- 
lion.  He  grasped  Laura's  hand  ;  and,  witli  tears ofjoy  Htre:nr>lng 
down  his  pale  cheeks,  s.aid, — ''  Heaven  be  praised !  I  shall  not, 
leave  thee  quite  desolate."  Laura  herself  felt  less  desolate;  and 
she  rejoiced  even  for  herself,-  wlic!i  she  once  more  saw  De  Cour- 
cy seated  beside  her  father. 

It  was  only  the  morning  before,  that  a  letter  from  Harriet  had 
informed  her  brother  of  Montreville's  illi^.ess  and  cf  liaura's  dis- 
tress. To  hear  of  that  distress,  and  to  remain  at  a  distance  vatj 
impossible ;  and  Montague  had  left  Mr.  Wentwor?  h's  within  the  hour. 
He  had  travelled  all  night;  and,  without  v.tcu  seeing  his  mothci- 
and  sister,  had  come  directly  to  Captain  "vloi.treville'b  lodginV- 
He  was  shocked  at  the  death-l'ikc  looks  of  Montreville,  and  still 
more  so  at  those  of  Laura.  Her  eyes  were  sunk,  her  lips  coloiu'- 
less,  and  her  whole  appearance  indicated  that  she  was  worn  ou' 
witli  fatigue  and  v,  retchedness.  Yet  De  Courcy  felt,  that  never  iu 
the  bloom  of  health  and  beauty,  had  she  been  so  dear  to  him,  and 
scarcely  could  he  forbear  from  addressing  her  in  the  accents  and 
r.oninn-:inn  -.nd  of  love      Montreville  wishir.g  to  speak  v/ith  hln» 


100 

^Ii:.uo,  b<rg-gt^<i  oi"  Laura  to  leave  him  for  a  whiie  to  De  Courcy^s 
•arc,  and  endeavour  to  take  some  rest.  She  objected  that  Mon- 
:i^ac  had  himseif  need  of  rest,  having  travelled  all  night ;  but  av  hen 
lc  assured  her,  that  even  if  she  drove  hiin  av/ay  he  would  not  at- 
\:.n-;jit  to  Sleep,  she  consented  to  retire,  and  seek  the  repose  of 
rliich  she  was  so  much  in  v.ant. 

When  they  v/cre  alojie,  Montrcville  shewed  Dc  Coupcy  tlic 
'.irnin (J  letter  ;  and  related  to  him  the  baseness  of  Warreii,  and 

.:iuva's  escape.  Montag-ue  lir.tened  to  him  with  intense  interest. 
Ic  often  changed  colour,  and  his  lips  quivered  with  emotion ;  and, 

hen  her  fatlier  described  the  manner  in  v;hich  slie  had  accom-' 
,)lished  hcv  csc?.pe,  he  exclaimed  w-th  enthusiasm,  "Yes,  she  is 
-tpcrior  to  every  weakness,  a^s  she  is  alive  to  every  gentle  feeling." 
JMonti'cvillc  ilicu  dwelt  upon  her  unremitting  care  of  him— on  the 
ortitadc  with  wliich  she  suppressed  her  sorrow,  even  while  its  vi- 
'ilci-ce  was  perceptibly  injurivig  her  health.  '*And  is  it  to  be  won- 
•rred  at,"  K*id  he,  "  that  1  look  forv»ard  witli  horror  to  leaving 
ills  lovely  excellent  creature  in  such  a  world,  alone  and  friend- 
"ss  V*    "  ^lie  shall    TiCvcr    be   friendless,"    cried  De  Courcy. — 

My  mother,  my  sister,  shall  be  her  friends,  and  I  will" ^Hc 

•■.opped  abruptly,  and  a  heavy  righ  burst  from  hym. 

il:  covering  himself,  he  resumed,  "  You  must  not  talk  so  des- 
Jttndingly.  You  v/iil  long  live,  1  trust,  to  enjoy  tlie  blcsshig  of 
>7uch  a  thlld."  Montreville  shock  his  head,  and  remained  silent. 
ile  was  persuaded  that  De  Courcy  loved  his  daughter,  and  would 

•Jn  Iiave  heard  an  explicit  avowal  that  he  did  so.     To  hare  secur- 

d  to  her  the  protection  of  Montag-ue  would  have  destroyed  the 
;utternc.ss  of  death.  Had  Lu.ura  been  the  heiress  of  millions,  he 
.ouldhave  rejoiced  to  bestow  her  and  them  upon  De  Courcy. — 
»{ut  ho  licorned  to  force  him  to  a  declaration,  and  respected  her 
'30  l^uch  to  make  nil  ai'JJiuaeii  luwatus  oifering  liCr  to  an}'  man*s 
acceptance. 

He  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  v»hat  reason  withheld  De  Com-cy 
;om  avoAving  an  attachment  v/liich  he  was  convinced  that  he  felt. 
When  he  considered  his  fivourlte's  grave  reflecting  character,  he 
:>  as  rnthcr  inclined  to  believe  that  he  was  cautiously  ascertaining 

•'ic  temper  and  habits  of  tlic  woman  v.ith  whom  he  meant  to  .spend 
its  lite.  B  ut  the  warmth  of  approbation  with  which  he  mentioned 
f.s-.va,  seemed  to  indicate  that  his  opinion  of  her  was  already  fix- 
ed.* it  waa  possible,  too,  that  De  Courcy  v.ished  to  secure  an  in- 
toiTSbt  in  her  regard  before  he  ventured  formally  to  petition  for  it. 
Whatever  was  the  cause  of  Montague's  silence,  the  C^iptain  anli- 
intxited  tlte  liapplcst  consequences  from  liis  renewed  intercourse 
w  ith  Laura ;  and  he  resolved  that  he  wohUI  not,  by  any  indelicate 
'iiterffrence,  compel  him  to  precipitate  his  declaration.  He  there- 
fore ch:uige(l  thTi  conversation,  by  inquiring  when  Mrs.  De  Cour- 
„y  was  to  leavo  town.     Mont.ague  ansv.crcd,  that  as   he   had  not 

>een  his  mother  since  his  return,  he  did  not  e::actly  linow  what 
f-.mc  was  ftxed  for  her  departure  :  "but,"  said  he,  *' whenever 
^h  •  ffo's,  I  'i'j.'iU  oid\-  a'.ler\'l  licr  to  Norwood,  and  return  on  the 


101 

instant ;  nor  v  ill  I  quit  you  again,  till  yon  arc  much,  much  better, 

or  till  you  will  no  longer  suffer  me  to  stay."     Montreviile  received 

this  promise  with  gratitude  and  joy ;  and  Dc  Courcy  persuaded 
himself,  that  in  making  it,  he  was  actu::ted  chiefly  by  motives  oi" 
friendship  an4  humanity.     He   remained  with  Montreviile  till  the 

day  was  far  advanced,  and  then  w^ent  to  take  a  late  dinner  in  Aud 

ley  Street. 

Next  morning,  and  for  several  succeeding  days,  he  retumcdj 

.md  spent  the  greatest  part  of  his  time  in  attending,  comfortnjg, 
and  amusing  the  invalid.  He  prevailed  on  his  mother  to  delay  her 
departure,  that  he  might  not  be  obliged  immediately  to  leave  hi^. 
charge.  He  soothed  the  little  impatience  of  disease  ;  coutrived 
means  to  mitigate  the  oppressiveness  'of  debility ;  knew  how  to  - 
exhilarate  the  hour  of  ease  ;  and  watched  the  moment,  v.ell  known 
to  the  sickly,  when  amusement  becomes  fatigue. 

Laura  repaid  these  attentions  to  her  tather  with  gratitude  unut- 

crable.     Often  did  she  wish  to  thank  De  Courcy  as  lie  tlcser\-cd  ; 

)Ut  she  felt  that  her  acknowledgments  must  fall  far  short  of  he; 
lUelings  and  of  his  deserts,  if  they  were  not  nicide  with  a  wanntl). 
which  to  a  man,  and  to  a  young  man,  she  revolted  from  express- 
ing. She  imagined,  too,  that  to  one  who  soup-ht  for  fricndsliip, 
mere  gratitude  might  be  mortifying;  and  that  il  might  wound  tl:f 
generous  nature  of  Montague  to  be  thanked  as  a  benefactor,  where 
lie  wished  to  be  loved  as  an  equal.  She  therefore  did  not  cpeak 
of,  or  but  sUghtly  mentioned,  her  own  and  her  f«*ther's  obligation.*-: 
to  him  ;  but  she  strove  to  repay  them  in  the  way  that  ^vould  have 
been  most  acceptable  to  herself,  by  every  mark  of  confidence  and 
goodwill.  Here  no  timidity  restrained  her ;  for  no  feeling  that 
could  excite  timidity  at  all  mingled  with  her  regard  for  De  Cour- 
cy. But,  confined  to  her  own  breast,  her  gratitude  became  tlic 
stronger  ;  and  if  s^p  had  now  had  a  heart-  to  give,  to  Montague  it 
would  have  been  fi'eely  given. 

Meanwhile  the  spirits  of  Montreviile  lightened  of  a  heavy  load, 
by  the  assurance  that,  even  in  case  of  his  death,  Jiis  daughter  would 
have  a  friend  to  comfort  and  protect  her,  his  health  began  to  im- 
prove. He  was  able  to  rise ;  and  one  day,  with  the  assistance  of 
Montague's  arm,  surprised  Laura  with  a  visit  in  the  parlour.  Th<-; 
heart  of  Laura  swelled  witli  transport  when  she  saw  him  oncfi 
more  occupy  his  accustomed  seat  in  the  family-room,  and  received 
him  as  one  returned  from  the  grave.  She  sat  by  liim,  holding  his 
hand  between  her  own,  but  did  not  try  to  speak.  "  If  it  would  no?: 
make  you  jealous,  Laura,'*  said  Montreviile,  "  I  slwuld  tell  you 
that  Mr.  De  Courcy  is  a  better  nurse  than  you  are.  I  have  recrui- 
ted wonderfully  since  he  undertook  the  care  of  me.  More  indeed 
Uian  1  thought  I  should  ever  have  done."  Laura  answered  only  b\- 
glancing  upon  De  Courcy  a  look  of  heartfelt  benevolence  ami 
pleasure.  "  And  yet,"  said  Montague,  "  it  is  alleged,  that  no  at- 
tentions from  our  own  sex  are  sa effectual  as  those  wi)ich  we  re- 
ceive from  the  other.  How  cheaply  would  bodily  suffering  pur 
ehase  ths  sympathy,  the  endearments  of'*--—  the  name  of  Lau»ft 

21 


102 

iDse  to  his  Hp5,  bvit  he.  suppressed  it,  and  changed  the  expression 
to  *•  an  amiable  woman.*'  *'ls  it  indeed  so  r"  cried  Laura,  raising- 
her  eyes  full  of  grateful  tears  to  his  face.  "  Oh  then,  if  sickness 
or  sorrow  must  be  your  portion,  may  your  kindness  liere  be  repaid 
by  some  spirit  of  peace  in  woman's  form — some  gentleness  yet 
more  feminine  than  De  Gourc^'s  !'* 

The  enlliusiasm  of  gratitude  had  hurried  Laura  into  a  warmtli 
which  the  next  moment  covered  her  with  confusion  ;  and  she  with- 
drew her  eyes  from  De  Courcy's  face  before  she  had  time  to  re- 
iiiark  the  effect  of  these,  the  first  words  of  emotion  that  ever  she 
?iad  addressed  to  him.  The  transport  excited  by  the  ardour  of 
her  expressions,  and  the  cordial  approbation  which  they  implied, 
iListantly  gave  Vvay  to  extreme  mortification.  "  She  wishes,^ 
thought  he,  "  that  some  'v^^cman  may  repay  me.  She  would  then» 
lot  only  v.ith  indifference,  but  with  pleasure,  see  me  imited  to 
unotlier  ;  resign  me  vv'ithout  a  pang  to  some  mere  common-place 
iniiipkl  piece  of  sweetness;  and  give  her  noble  self  to  one  wh« 
CDUJd  better  feel  her  value." 

De  Courcy  had  never  declared  his  preference  for  Laura  ;  he  was 
■ovei'.  determined  not  to  declare  it.  Yet  to  find  that  she  had  not  evei> 
a  wish  to  secure  it  fbr  herself,  gave  him  such  acute  vexation,  tkat 
he  was  unable  to  remain  in  her  presence.  He  abruptly  rose  and 
Sook  his  leave.  He  soon  however  reproached  himself  with  the  un- 
.yeaaonableness  of  his  feelings  ;  and  returned  to  his  oft  repeated  re- 
ii^solution  to  cultivate  the  friendship  without  aspiring  to  the  love  of 
J:.aura.  He  even  persuaded  himself  that  he  rejoiced  in  ber  freedom 
iVom  a  passion  which  coidd  not  be  gratified  without  a  sacrifice  of 
<he  most  important  duties.  He  had  a  sister  for  whotn  no  provision 
had  been  made ;  a  mcrther,  worthy  of  his  warmest  affection,  whose 
increasing  infirmities  required  increased  indulgence.  Mrs.  De 
Oourcy's  jointure  was  a  very  small  one  ;  andfthough  she  consented 
ibr  the  present  to  share  the  comforts  of  his  establishment,  Mon- 
tague knew  her  too  w- ell  to  imagine,  that  she  would  accept  of  any 
addition  to  hev  income  deducted  from  the  necessary  expences  of 
■'lis  wife  and  family.  His  generous  nature  revolted  from  suflFering 
■  his  sister  to  feel  herself  a  mere  pensioner  on  his  bounty,  or  to  see&K. 
iear-bought  independence  in  a  marriage  of  convenience,  a  sort  of 
hargain  upon  which  he  looked  with  donble  aversion  since  h©  had 
iumself  felt  the  power  of  an  exclusive  attachment. 

Here  even  Jus  sense  of  justice  was  concerned ;  for  he  knew  that, 
if  his  father  had  lived,  it  v/as  his  intention  to  have  saved  from  his 
.income  a  provision  for  Harriet  From  the  time  that  the  estate  de- 
volved to  Montague,  he  had  begun  to  execute  his  father's  intenticm  ; 
and  he  had  resolved,  thai  no  selfish  purpose  should  interfere  with 
its  fulfilment.  The  destined  sum,  however ;  WiS  as  yet  httle  more 
than  half  collected,  and  it  was  now  likely  to  accumulate  still  more 
slowly  ;  for,  as  Mrs.  De  Courcy  had  almost  entirely  lost  the  use  cHT 
ber  limbs,  a  carriage  was  to  her  an  absolute  necessary  of  hfe. 

Most  joy  fully  would  Montague  have  sacrificed  every  luxury,  un- 
dergone livqpty  privjk^i,  to  «oure  the  po9scs}»ion  of  Livira:  butt<? 


103 

would  not  sacvifice  his  mothers  healUi  nor  his  sister's  independence 
to  any  selfish  gratification;  nw  would  Jie  subject  the  woman  of  his 
choice  to  the  endless  embarrassments  of  a  revenue  too  small  for 
its  purposes. 

These  reasons  had  determined  him  against  addressing  Laura. — 
At  their  first  interview  he  had  been  struck  with  her  as  the  most 
lovely  woman  he  had  ever  beheld :  but  he  was  in  no  fear  that  his 
affections  should  be  entangled.  They  had  escaped  from  a  hundred 
lovely  women,  who  had  done  their  utmost  to  ensnare  them,  while 
she  was  evidently  void  of  any  such  design.  Besides,  Montreville 
was  his  old  friend,  and  it  was  quite  necessary  that  he  should  visit 
him.  Laura*8  manners  had  charmed  De  Courcy  as  rnuch  as  her 
person.  Still  might  not  a  man  be  pleased  and  entertained,  without 
being  in  love  ?  Further  acquaintance  gradually  laid  open  to  him 
the  gi'eat  and  amiable  qualities  of  her  mind;  and  was  it  not  natu^, 
lal  and  proper  to  love  virtue  ?     But  this  was  not  being  in  love. 

Symptoms  at  last  grew  so  strong  upon  poor  De  Courcy,  that  he 
could  no  longer  disguise  them  frora  himself;  but  it  was  pleasing 
to  love  excellence.  He  would  never  reveal  his  passion.  It  should, 
be  the  secret  joy  of  his  heart;  and  why  cast  away  a  treasure  which 
he  might  enjoy  without  injury  to  any?  Laura*s  love  indeed  he 
could  not  seek ;  but  her  frien^ijhip  he  might  cherish ;  and  who 
would  exchange  the  friendship  of  such  a  woman  for  the  silly  fond- 
ness of  a  thousand  vulgar  minds  ? 

In  this  pursuit  he  had  all  the  success  that  he  could  desire ;  for 
Laura  treated  him  with  undisguised  regard ;  and  with  that  regard 
he  assured  himself  that  he  should  be  satisfied.  At  last  this  *•  se- 
cret joy,"  this  "  treasure  of  his  heart,"  began  to  mingle  pain  witl^ 
its  pbasures ;  and,  when  called  away  on  has  mournful  errand  t«K 
Mr.  Went  worth,  De  Courcy  confessed,  that  it  was  wise  to  wean  him- 
self a  little  from  one  whose  presence  was  becoming  necessary  to 
his  happiness,  and  to  put  some  restraint  upon  a  passion,  which  from 
his  toy  was  become  his  master.  Short  absence,  however,  had  only 
increased  his  malady ;  and  Laura  in  sorrow,  Laura  grateful,  confi- 
ding, at  times  almost  tender,  seized  at  once  upon  every  avenue  ta 
the  heart  of  De  Courcy :  he  revered  her  as  the  bpst,  he  admired 
her  as  tlie  loveliest,  he  loved  her  as  the  most  amiable  of  human 
beings.  Still  he  resolved  that,  whatever  it  might  cost  him,  he 
would  refrain  from  all  attempt  to  gain  her  love  ;  and  he  began  to 
draw  nice  distinctions  between  the  <^ery  tender  friendship  with  which . 
he  hoped  to  inspire  her,  and  the  tormenting  passion  which  he  must 
silently  endure.  ELappily  for  the  success  of  De  Courcy*s  self-de- 
ceit, there  was  no  rival  at  hand,  with  whose  progress  in  Laura's  re- 
gard he  could  measure  with  his  own,  and  he  never  thought  of  ask- 
ing himself  what  would  be  his  sensations  if  her  <very  tender  friend- 
ship for  him  should  not  exclude  love  for  another. 

A  doubt  woidd  sometimes  occur  to  him,  as  to  the  prudence  of 
exposing  himself  to  the  unremitting  influence  of  her  charms,  but 
it  was  quickly  banished  as  an  unwelcome  intruder,  or  silenced  with 
the  plea,  thcit,  to  withdraw  himpeU*  from  Montreville  on  a  sick-bed, 


104 

would  outrage  friendship  and  humanity.  He  had,  too,  somewhat 
Inadvertently,  given  his  friend  a  proTnise  that  he  would  not  leave 
him  till  his  health  was  a  little  re-established ;  and  this  promise  now 
sensed  as  the  excuse  for  an  indulj^enee  which  he  had  not  resolution 
to  fore^^o.  After  escorting  Mrs.  De  Courcy  toNorwoood,  heplead- 
cd  this  promise  to  himself  when  he  returned  to  London  without  an 
houi*s  delay ;  and  it  excsed  him  in  his  own  eyes  for  going  every 
morning  to  the  abode  of  M  inlreville,  from  whence,  till  the  return 
pf  night  drove  him  away,  he  had  seldom  the  resolution  to  depart. 

Meanwhile,  with  the  health  of  her  father,  the  spirits  of  Laura 
revived ;  und  considering  it  as  an  act  of  the  highest  self-denial  in 
a  domestic  man  to  quit  his  home — a  literary  man  to  suspend  his 
studies — a  young  man  to  become  stationary  in  the  apartment  of  an 
invalid,  she  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost  to  cheer  Dc  Courcy's 
voluntary  task.  She  sometimes  relieved  him  in  reading  aloud,  an 
accomplishment  in  wliich  she  excelled.  Her  pronunciation  was 
correct,  her  voice  vai'ied,  powerful  and  melodious,  her  conception 
rapid  and  accurate,  while  the  expression  of  her  countenance  was  . 
an  animated  comment  upon  the  author. 

De  Gourcy  delighted  to  hear  her  sing  the  wild  airs  of  her  native 
mountains,  which  she  did  with  inimitable  pathos,  though  without 
skill.  Her  conversation,  sometimes  literary,  sometimes  gay.  Was 
always  simply  hitended  to  please.  Yet,  though  void  of  all  design 
to  dazzle,  it  happened,  she  knew  not  how,  that  m  De  Courcy's  com- 
pany she  was  always  more  lively,  more  acute,  than  at  other  times. 
His  remarks  seemed  to  unlock  new  stores  in  her  mind  ;  and  the 
train  of  thought  which  he  introduced,  she  could  always  follow  with 
peculiar  case  and  pleasure.  Safe  in  herpreference  for  another,  she 
treated  him  with  the  most  cordial  frankness.  Utterly  unconscious 
of  the  sentiment  she  inspired,  she  yet  had  an  animating  confidence 
in  De  Courcy's  good  will  ?  and  -sometimes  pleased  hei-self  with 
tliinking,  that,  next  to  his  another  and  sister,  she  stood  highest  of 
women  hi  his  regard.  No  arts  of  the  most  refined  coquetrj^  could 
have  riveted  more  closely  the  chains  of  the  ill-fated  De  Courcy ; 
and  the  gratitude  of  the  miconscious  Laura,  pointed  the  shaft  tliat 
gave  the  death  wound  to  his  peace. 

How  was  it  possible  for  her  to  imagine,  that  the  same  sentiment 
could  produce  a  demeanor  so  opposite  as  De  Courcy's  was  from 
that  of  Hargrave.  Hargrave  had  been  accustomed  to  speak  of  her 
personal  chai-ms  with  rapture.  De  Courcy  had  never  made  them 
the  subject  of  direct  compliment ;  he  had  even  of  late  wholly  dis- 
continued those  little  gallantries  which  every  pretty  woman  is  ac- 
customed to  receive.  Hargrave  omitted  no  opportunity  to  plead  his 
passion;  and  though  the  presence  of  a  third  person  of  necessity  pre- 
clued  this  topic,  it  restrained  him  not  from  gazing  upon  Laura  With 
an  eagei-ness  from  which  she  shrunk  abashed.  De  Courcy  had  never 
mentioned  love  ;  and  Laura  observed  that,  when  his  glance  met 
hers,  he  would  sometimes  withdraw  his  eye  with  (as  she  thought) 
almost  womanly  modesty.  In  her  private  interviews  with  H;ii-gave, 
lif  .had  ever  aj)proached'b^.with  as  much  vehemence  tin'lfreqdgTP 


105 

uj  speech  and  mannev,  as  her  calm  dimity  would  peniiK.  Privac  > 
jnade  no  change  in  De  Coui'cy's  manner,  except  to  render  him  a 
little  more  silent — a  little  more  distant ;  and  to  personal  familiui-ity 
he  seemed  to  be  if  possible  more  averse  tlian  herself;  for  if  she 
accidentally  touched  him,  he  coloured  and  drew  back. 

Some  of  these  circumstances  Mmtreville  hadreniarl«d,andhad 
drawn  from  them  inferences  very  different  from  those  of  his  daugh- 
ter. He  was  convinced  that  the  preference  of  Dc  Courty  for  Lau- 
ra had  risen  into  a  passion,  which,  for  some  unknown  reason,  he 
"wislicd  to  conceal ;  and  he  perceived,  by  the  case  of  her  behaviour, 
that  Montague's  secret  was  unsuspected  by  her.  Most  anxiously 
did  he  wish  to  know  the  cause  of  his  favourite's  silence,  and  to  dis- 
cover whether  it  was  likely  to  operate  long.  In  Laura*s  absence, 
he  sometimes  led  the  conversation  towards  the  subject ;  but  De 
Coiircy  never  in^jroved  the  offered  opportunity  Partly  in  the  hope 
of  invitingequal  frankness,  Montreville  talked  of  his  own  situation, 
and  mentioned  the  motive  of  his  journey  to  London.  M ontagiie 
inquu*ed  into  every  particular  of  the  business,  and  rested  not  tiU 
iie  had  found  Mr.  Baynard's  executor,  and  received  from  him  an 
acknowledgement,  tliat  he  had  in  his  possession  a  voucher  for  the 
payment  of  Montre%'illes  fifteen  hundred  pounds  lo  Warren. 

He  next,  without  mentioning  the  matter  to  the  Captain,  called 
upon  Warren,  with  an  intention  finally  to  conclude  the  business  ; 
thinking  it  impossible  that,  since  the  payment  of  the  money  was  as- 
certained, he  could  refuse  either  to  pay  the  annuity,  or  refund  the 
price  of  it.  But  the  disdain  of  Laura  yet  rankled  in  the  mind  of 
Warren,  and  he  positively  refused  to  bring,  the  affair  to  any  conclu- 
sion, declaring,  that  he  would  litigate  it  to  the  last  six  pence  he  was 
worth  :  to  which  declaration  he  added  an  excellent  joke  concerning 
the  union  of  Scotch  pride  with  Scotch  poverty.  Atiiiis  affi-ontcry 
the  honest  blood  of  De  C our  cy  boiled  with  indignation,  fcndhewas 
on  the  pomt  of  vowing,  that  he  too  would  beggar  himself,  rather 
than  permit  such  infamous  oppression;  but  his  mother,  his  si$ter, 
and  Laura  herself,  rose  to  his  mii^id,  and  he  contented  himself  with 
threatening  to  expose  Warren  to  the  disgi-ace  that  he  merited. 

Warren  now  began  to  suspect  that  De  Courcy  was  the  cause  of 
Ijttura's  contemptuous  reception  of  his  addresses,  and,  em-aged  at 
his  interference,  yet  overawed  by  his  manly  appearance  and  deci- 
ded manner,  he  became  sullen,  and  refused  to  answer  Morrtngue's 
expostulations.  Nothing  remained  to  be  done,  and  De  Courcy  was 
obliged  to  communicate  to  Montreville  tlie  ill  success  of  his  nego- 
ciations. 

Bereft  of  all  hopes  of  obtaining  justice,  which  he  had  not  the 
means  to  enforce,  Montreville  became  more  anxiously  desirious  to 
regam  such  a  degree  of  health  as  might  enable  him  to  retiu'u 
home.  In  his  present  state,  sucli  a  journey  was  impracticable,  and 
he  was  convinced,  that  while  he  remained  pent  \ip  in  tlie  polluted 
air  of  the  cit^,  his  recovery  could  advance  but  sloTV'ly.  Some  w^'.kT^ 


106 

must  al  all  events  elapse  before  he  could  be  in  a  condition  to  travel ; 
and  to  accommodate  his  funds  to  thie  prolonged  demand  upon  them, 
he  saw  that  he  must  have  recourse  to  some  scheme  of  economy  yet 
more  humble  than  that  which  he  had  adopted. 

He  hoped,  if  he  could  recover  strength  sufficient  for  the  search, 
to  find  in  ^\e  suburbs  some  abode  of  purer  air,  and  still  more  mo- 
derate expense  tlian  his  present  habitation.  The  former  only  of 
these  motives  he  mentioned  to  De  Courcy ;  for  though  Montreville 
did  not  affect  to  be  rich,  he  never  spoke  of  his  poverty.  Various, 
circumstances,  however,  had  led  De  Courcy  to  guess  at  his  friends 
pecuniary  embarrassment ;  and  he  too  had  a  motive  which  he  did 
not  avow,  in  the  offer  which  he  made  to  seek  a  more  healthful  resi- 
dence for  Montr evi  lie. 

Unwilling  to  describe  the  humble  accommodation  with  which  he 
meant  to  content  himself,  or  the  limited  price  which  he  could  af- 
fbrd  to  offer  for  it,  Montreville  atfirsticfused  De  Co\ircy's  services  ; 
but  they  were  pressed  upon  him  with  sucli  warmth,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  submit,  and  Montague  lost  no  time  in  fulfilling  his  com- 
mission. 

He  soon  discovered  a  situation  that  promised  comfort.  It  was  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  a  small  flower-garden  belonged  to  the 
house,  the  apartments  were  airy  and  commodious,  the  furniture  was 
handsome,  and  the  whole  most  finically  neat.  The  rent,  however, 
exceeded  that  of  Montreville's  present  lodgings  ;  and  De  Courcy 
knew  that  this  objection  would  be  insurmountable.  That  Laura 
should  submit  to  the  inelegancies  of  a  mean  habitation,  was  what  he 
could  not  bear  to  think  of;  and  he  determined  by  a  friendly  little  ar- 
tifice, to  reconcUe  Montreville's  comfort  with  his  economy.  The 
surgeon  had  named  two  or  three  weeks  as  the  time  likely  to  elapse 
before  Montreville  could  commence  his  journey.  De  Courcy  paid 
in  advance  above  half  the  rent  of  the  apartments  for  a  liiontb, 
charging  the  landlady  to  keep  the  real  rent  a  secret  from  her  lodgers. 

As  fax-  as  the  author  of  these  memoirs  has  been  able  to  learn,  this 
was  the  only  artifice  that  ever  Montague  De  Courcy  practised  in 
bis  life ;  and  it  led,  as  artifices  are  wont  to  do,  to  consequences 
which  tiie  contriver  neither  wished  nor  foresaw. 

Much  to  his  satisfaction,  Montreville  was  soon  settled  in  his  new^ 
abode,  where  De  Courcy  continued  to  be  his  daily  visitor.  A 
certain  delicacy  prevented  Laura  from  endeavouring  to  procure  a 
reversal  of  her  father's  decree,  issued  in  a  moment  of  peevishness, 
that  she  should  paint  no  more  with  a  view  to  pecuniary  reward.  She 
felt  that  he  had  been  wrong,  and  she  shrunk  from  reminding  him 
of  it,  till  her  labours  should  again  become  necessary.  But  desirous 
to  convey  to  Mrs.  De  Courcy  some  token  of  her  remembrance  and 
gratitude,  she  employed  some  of  the  hours  which  Montague  spent 
with  lier  father,  in  labouring  a  picture  which  she  intended  to  send 
to  Norwood.  The  subject  was  the  choice  of  Hercules ;  and  to 
make  her  gift  the  more  acceptable,  she  presented  in  the  hero  a  pic. 
-ure  of  I?e  Courcy,  wlule  the  form  and  coimtenanixe  of  ^''irtucJ  were 


107 

o:^ied  from  the  simple  majesty  of  her  own.  The  figure  of  Plea, 
sure  was  a  fancied  one,  and  it  cost  the  fair  artist  unspeakable  labour. 
She  could  not  pourtray  what  she  would  have  shrunk  from  beholding 
— a  female  voluptuary.  Her  draperies  were  always  designed  with 
the  most  chastened  decency ;  and,  after  all  her  toil,  even  thie  form 
of  Pleasuse  came  sober  and  ra  tronly  from  the  hand  of  Laura. 

Designing  a  little  surprise  for  her  iriencla,  slie  had  never  men- 
tioned this  picture  to  De  Courcy ;  and  as  she  daily  stole  some  of 
the  hours  of  his  visit  to  bestow  upon  it,  it  advanced  rapidly.  Mon- 
tague bore  these  absences  with  impatience;  but  Montrevillg,  who 
Tvuew  how  Laura  was  employed,  look  no  notice  of  tliem,  and  Dc 
Courcy  durst  not  complain. 

Three  weeks  had  glided  away  since  Montreville's  removal  to  his 
new  lodgings,  and  he  remained  as  much  as  ever  anxious,  and  as 
much  as  ever  unahle  to  guess  the  reason  which. induced  De  Cour- 
cv  to  conceal  a  passion  which  evidently  increased  every  day.  He 
recollected  that  Montague  had  of  late  never  met  Laura  but  in  his 
presence,  and  lie  thought  it  natural  that  the  lo^  er  should  wish  to 
jnake  his  first  application  to  his  mistress  herself  He  had  an  idea, 
that  the  picture  might  be  made  to  assist  the  deivouement  which  he 
so  ardently  desired;  and  with  this  view  he  privately  gave  orders 
that  when  next  Mr.  Da  Courcy  came  he  should  be  ushered  into  the 
painting-room,  which  he  knew  would  be  empty,  as  Laura  never 
quitted  him  'ill  D  '  Courcy  arrived  to  take  her  place.       ^ 

Next  morning  accordingly  Montague  was  shown  into  the  room  which 
he  had  himself  destined  for  Laura,  and,  for  that  reason,  supplied 
with  many  little  luxuries  which  belonged  not  to  its  original  furniture. 
He  looked  round  with  dehght  on  the  marks  of  her  recent  presence. 
There  lay  her  book  open  as  she  had  quitted  it,  and  the  pencil  with 
•vvJiich  she  had  marked  the  margin.  It  was  one  which  he  himself 
had  recommended,  and  he  thought  it  should  ever  be  xlear  to  him. 
On  a  table  lay  her  port-foUo  and  drawing  materials :  in  a  corner 
stood  her  easel  with  the  picture,  over  which  was  thiown  a  shawl 
which  he  had  seen  her  wear. 

Not  conceiving  that  she  could  have  any  desire  to  conceal  her  work, 
he  approached  it,  and,  raising  the  covering,  stood  for  a  moment 
motionless  with  surprise.  The  next,  a  thousand  sensations,  vague 
but  dcughtful,  darted  tliro  gh  his  mind  ;  but  before  he  could  give 
shapeor  distinctness  to  any  one  of  them,  the  step  approached  that 
ever  roused  De  Cou  cy  to  eager  expectation,  and  letting  drop  the 
shawl,  he  flew  towards  the  door  to  receive  Laura. 

Witli  rapture  in  his  eyes,  but  confusion  on  bis  tongue,  De  Courcy 
paid  his  compliments  and  again  turned  towards  tlie  picture.  Laura 
sprung  for.w:u'd  to  prevent  him  from  raising  the  covering.  "  Is  tliis 
forbidden,  then  ?"  said  he.  "  Oh  yes,  indeed,"  said  Lauru,  blushing-, 
"  you  must  not  look  at  it."  **  Can  you  be  so  mischievous,"  cried 
De  Cotircy,  a  dehghted  smile  playing  on  his  countenance,  "  as  to  re- 
fuse me  such  a  pleasure?"  "  I  am  sure, '  said  Laura,  blushing  agair, 
and  still  more  deeply,  "  it  could  give  you  no  pleas^jre  in  its  present 


108 

state."  *'  And  I  am  sure,"  said  De  Courcy,  ardently,  "  it  would 
^ve  tne  more  than  1  have  language  to  express  " 

t)e  Courcy's  eagerness,  and  the  consciousness  of  her  own  con- 
fusion made  Laura  now  more  unwilling  that  Montague  should  dis- 
■cover  the  cause  of  both  to  be  his  own  portrait,  and  actually  trem- 
bling with  emotion,  she  said,  putting  her  hand  on  the  shawl  to 
prevent  him  from  raising  it,  "Indeed  I  cannot  shew  you  this. — 
There  is  my  port-folio — ^look  at  any  thing  but  this."  .  "  And  what 
inference  may  I  draw  as  to  the  subject  of  a  picture  that  Miss  Mon- 
trevillfe  will  not  shew  to  the  m.ost  partial — the  most  devoted  of  her 
friends  ?'*  "  Any  inference,"  replied  Laura,  still  holding  the  shawl, 
"  that  friendship  or  charity  will  permit."  "And  must  I  not  re- 
move this  perverse  little  hand?"  said  De  Courcy,  laying  his  upon 
it;  for  all  prudence  was  forgotten  in  his  present  emotion.  Laura, 
a  little  offended  at  his  perseverance,  gravely  withdrew  her  hand, 
•and  turned  away,  saying,  "  Since  my  wishes  have  no  power,  1 
shall  make  no  other  trial  of  strength."  "No  power  J"  cried 
De  Courcy,  following  her,  "  they  have  more  force  than  a  thousand 
arms."  *'  Well,"  said  Laura,  a  little  si'.rprised  by  his  manner, 
but  turning  upon  him  a  smile  of  gracious  reconciliation,  **your 
forbearance  may  hearafter  be  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  tli is  important 
•picture;  but  lest  you  should  forfeit  your  recompense,  had  we  not 
better  remove  from  temptation  ?" 

She  tlien  led  the  way  to  the  parlour,  and  De  Courcy  followed  her 
in  a  state  of  agitation  that  could  not  be  concealed.  He  was  absent 
and  restless.  He  often  changed  colour,  seemed  scarce  sensible  of 
what  was  addressed  to  him,  or  began  to  reply,  and  the  unfinished 
sentence  died  upon  his  lips.  At  last,  starting  up,  he  pleaded  sud- 
den indisposition,  and  was  hurrying  away.  "  Do  not  go  away  ill 
and  alone,"  said  Laura,  kindly  detaining  him.  "  Walk  round  the 
garden — the  fresh  air  will  relieve  you.**  *'  No  air  will  relieve  me  !'* 
said  De  Courcy,  in  a  voice  of  wretchedness.  **  What  then  ca''  we 
do  for  you?"  said  Laura,  with  affectionate  eamdstness.  "What 
canyou  dofor  me!"  cried  De  Courcy,  "Oh  nothing,  nothing  but 
suffer  me  to  go,  while  yet  I  have  the  power  "  He  then  wrung 
Montreville*s  hand,  and  uttermg  something  which  his  emotion  made 
inarticulate,  without  venturing  a  glance  towards  Laura,  he  quitted 
tlie  house,  and  returned  home  in  a  state  bordering  on  distraction. 

He  shut  himself  up  in  h"s  chamber  to  consider  of  his  situation, 
if  that  can  be  called  consideration,  which  was  but  a  conflict  of  tu- 
multuous feeling.  That  Laura  should  Jiave  painted  his  portrait  in  a 
groupe  where  it  held  such  a  relation  to  her  own  ;  that  she  should 
keep  it  concealed  in  an  apartment  exclusively  appropri  ted  to  her- 
self; her  alarm  lest  he  should  examine  it ;  her  confusion,  which  had 
at  last  risen  to  the  most  distre -sing  height,  from  the  idea  of  what 
De  Courey  might  infer,  should  he  discover  that  his  own  portrait  was 
the  cause  of  so  many  blushes ;  the  confiding  affectionate  manner  in 
\^hich  she  treated  him  ; — all  conspired  to  mislead  De  Courcy.  He 
felt  a  conviction  that  he  was  belwed,  and,  incite  of  himself,  the 
thou^t  was  rapture. 


109 

Bat  whal  availed  this  discovery  ?  Could  he  forget  the  justice  of 
his  sister's  claims,  sacrifice  to  his  selfish  wishes  the  comfort  of  his 
mother,  or  wed  his  half-worshipped  Laura  to  the  distresses  of  an 
embarrassed  fortune  ?  "  Oh  no,"  he  cried,  "  let  not  my  passions 
involve  in  disaster  all  that  I  love." 

Or  could  he  lay  open  to  Laura  his  feelings  and  his  situation, 
and  sue  for  her  love,  even  while  their  union  must  be  delayed.  Her 
attachment,  he  thought,  was  yet  in  its  infancy,  born  of  gratitude, 
fostered  by  separation  from  other  society,  and,  for  the  present, 
pleasing  in  its  sensations,  and  transient  in  its  nature.  But  he 
thought  her  capable  of  a  love  as  fervent — as  deep-rooted  as  that 
which  she  inspired;  and  should  he  wilfully  awaken  in  her  peaceful 
breast  the  cravings  of  such  a  passion  as  tortured  his  own  ;  see  her 
spirits,  her  vigour  of  mind,  her  usefulness,  perhaps  her  health, 
give  way  to  the  sickness  of  "  hope  deferred  !"  No, — rather  let  her 
return  to  the  indifference  in  which  he  found  her.  Or,  should  he 
shackle  her  with  a  promise,  of  which  honour  might  extort  a  reluc- 
tant fulfilment,  after  the  affection  that  prompted  it  was  perhaps 
v/ithdrawn  from  him  ?  Or,  should  he  linger  on  from  day  to  day  in 
vain  endeavours  to  conceal  his  affection,  dishonourably  sporting 
with  the  tenderness  of  the  woman  he  loved,  his  ill-suppressed  feel- 
ings every  hour  offering  a  hope  which  must  every  hour  be  disap- 
pointed ?  No !  the  generous  heart  of  De  Courcy  would  sooner  have 
suffered  a  thousand  deaths. 

But  could  he  return— could  he  see  again  this  creature,  now 
more  than  ever  dear  to  him,  and  stifle  the  fondness — the  anjjuisli 
that  would  rend  his  bosom  at  pai*ting  ?  Impossible  !  He  would 
see  her  no  more.  He  would  tear  at  once  from  his  heart  e^xry 
hope — every  joy — and  dare  at  once  all  the  wretchedness  that 
awaited  him.  In  an  agony  of  desperation,  he  rang  for  his  servant, 
ordered  his  horses,  and  in  an  hour  was  on  his  way  to  Norwood, 
with  feelings  which  tlie  criminal  on  the  rack  need  not  have  envied. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  next  morning,  while  Montreville  and  his  daughter  were 
expecting  with  some  anxiety  the  arrival  of  their  daily  visitor,  a 
note  was  brought  which  De  Courcy  had  left  in  Audley  Street,  to 
be  delivered  after  his  departure.  Though  nearly  illegible,  from 
the  agitation  in  which  it  was  written,  it  contained  nothing  but  the 
simple  information,  that  he  had  been  suddenly  obliged  to  leave 
London.  It  assigned  no  reason  for  his  journey — it  fixed  no  period 
for  his  absence ;  and  Montreville  endeavoured  to  hope  that  his  re- 
turn would  not  be  distant.  But  day  after  day  passed  heavily  on, 
and  De  Courcy  came  not.    Montreville  again  beg^u  to  feel  hiio^sl-^ 

Vol.  I.  K  *" 


110 

.1  solitary  tlci^crtcd  he iug-;  again  became  dejected;  a^ain  became 
tlie  victim  of  real  debility  and  fancied  disease. 

All  Iv'iura's  endeavours  failed  to  animate  him  to  cheerfulness,  or 
uuse  hiju  to  employment.  If  he  permitted  her  to  remain  Hy  him, 
lie  seemed  rather  to  endure  than  to  enjoy  her  presence,  repressed 
.  Itit  a  lang-iiid  monosyllable  lier  attempts  at  conversation,  orpass- 
.  il  wJiolp  hours  in  listless  silence.  Laura,  who  foreboded  the  worst- 
consequences  from  the  indulgence  of  tliis  depression,  endeavoured 
to  persuade  liiin  that  he  mig-ht  now  safely  attempt  a  voyage  to 
Scotland,  and  predicted  beneficial  effects  from  the  sea  air.  iiut 
Montreville  answered  Iier  with  displeasure,  that  such  an  exertion 
would  certainly  destroy  him,  and  that  those  who  were  themselves 
in  hig-h  health  and  spirits,  could  not  judg-e  of  the  feelings,  nor  sym- 
pathise with  tJie  weakness  of  disease.  The  reproach  had  no  more 
ju-stice  ihxn  is  usual  with  the  upbraidings  of  the  sickly  ;  for  Laura's 
spirits  sluired  ever}'  turn  of  her  fat  hei''s,  though  her  stronger  mind 
could  support  with  grace  the  burden  that  weighed  his  to  the  earth. 
She  desisted,  however,  from  a  sul>ject  which  she  sav."^  that,  for  the 
present,  he  would  not  bear,  and  confijied  her  endeavours  to  per- 
suading him  to  undertake  some  light  occupation,  or  to  walk  in  the 
little  garden  that  belonged  to  the  house.  But,  even  in  these  {at- 
tempts, s!ie  was  commonly  defeated ;  for  Montreville  would  make 
no  exertion,  and  tlie  winter  wind,  now  keen  and  biting,  pierced 
througli  Ills  wasted  form. 

None  but  they  who  have  made  the  melancholy  experiment,  can 
tell  how  cheerless  is  the  labour  of  supporting  the  spirit  that  will 
make  no  cifort  to  sustain  itself,  of  soliciting  the  languid  smile,  of- 
fering the  rejected  anuisemcnt,  or  striving,  with  vain  ingenuity,  to 
enliven  the  oft-repulsed  conversation.  They  only  know  who  have 
tried  it,  what  it  is  to  resist  contagious  depression — to  struggle 
against  the  effects  of  the  complaining  voice,  the  languid  motion, 
the  hopeless  aspect ;  what  it  is  to  suppress  the  sympathetic  sigh, 
and  restrain  the  liitle  sally  of  impatience,  so  natural  to  those  whose 
labours  are  incessant,  yet  unavailing  Such  were  the  tasks  that 
Laura  voluntarily  prescribed  to  herself.  Incited  by  affection,  and 
by  strong  sense  of  duty,  she  soothed  the  fretful  humour,  prompted 
the  reluctant  exertion,  fanncfl  the  expiring  hope,  and  seized  the 
favourable  moment  to  soften  by  feminine  tenderness,  or  exhilarate 
by  youthful  gaiety. 

Many  motives  may  lead  to  one  great  effort  of  virtue.  The  hope 
of  reward,  the  desire  of  approbation,  a  sense  of  riglit,  the  natural 
benevolence  which  still  affords  a  faint  trait  of  the  image  in  which 
man  was  made,  all,  or  any  of  these,  may  produce  single,  or  even 
oft-repeated  acts  deserving  of  praise  ;  but  one  principle  alone  can 
lead  to  virtuous  exertions  persevering'  and  unremitting  though 
without  success.  That  principle  was  Laura's  ;  and  even  while  her 
endeavours  seemed  unavailing,  she  was  content  to  employ  all  her 
powers  in  the  task  selected  for  her  by  the  bestower  of  ihem. 

Moatrcvllle  often  reproached  himself  for  the  untimely  burden 
'  -sh  be  was  laying  on  the  young  heart  of  his  daughter;  but  he 


Ill 

could  make  no  cfTort  to  li|;htcn  it,  and  si.lf-reproacli  served  only 
to  embitter  the  spirit  wiiich  it  iVded  of  stim«i!aim<y  to  exertion. 

Fretful  and  impatient,  yet  conscious  of  his  injustice,  ami  unwii- 
lint^  thai  Laui'u  sliould  observe  it,  he  would  often  dismiss  her  from 
her  attendance,  :tnd  spend  whole  hours  in  soii^ury  gloom.  These 
liours  Laura  d(  voted  to  her  picture,  stealing  between  whiles,  on 
tiptoe,  to  the  door  of  her  father'.s  apartment,  to  listen  whether  he 
was  stirring-;  and  Sometimes  venturing  lo  knock  gxntly  for  admit- 
tance. 

Tiie  picture,  wliich  was  far  advanced  when  Dc  Courcy  left  town, 
soon  received  the  finisltinj^  touches  ;  and  Laura  lost  no  time  in 
transmitting-  it  to  Norwood.  She  wrote  an  afiectionate  letter  to 
Harriet;  in  which,  after  thanking  her  for  all  her  kindness,  she 
oiTered  her  gift,  and  added,  that  to  give  her  v.  ork  a  valae  which  it 
would  not  otherwise  have  possessed,  she  Jiad  intr(?duced  the  ^)or- 
trait  of  ])e  Courcy;  and  that,  }<iad  of  :<n  oj)portnnity  of  associating 
the  rcmcmbranee  bf  her.self  with  an  object  of  interest,  she  had  ad- 
mitted lier  cwiv  i*e.semb!ance  into  tiie  group.  She  apologized  for 
the  a.>pe:iraiice  of  conceit  uhich  might  atter.d  her  e^liibiting-  her 
own  form  under  the  character  of  \  iitue,  by  relatlnir,  with  charac- 
teristic simplicity,  that  she  had  determined  on  her  subject,  chosen 
and  half  finished  her  Hercules,  before  she  designed  the  figures  of 
his  companions;  that  she  had  afterwards  thought  that  her  memo- 
rial would  be  more  effectual  if  it  contained  the  portrait  of  the  giver. 
*'  And  you  know,"  added  she,  "  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
mould  my  solennt  countenance  into  the  lineaments  of  Pleasure. '* 

In  the  singleness  of  her  heart,  it  never  occurred  to  Laura,  that 
any  thing  in  the  mutual  relation  of  the  figures  of  her  piece  stood 
in  need  of  explanation.  Had  Hargrave  furnished  the  niodel  for 
her  hero,  she  would  probably  have  been  a  little  more  quick  sight- 
ed. As  it  was,  she  felt  impatient  to  shew  the  l)e  Courcy  family, 
not  excepting  Montague  himself,  that  she  was  not  forgetful  of  their 
kindness  ;  and  she  chose  a  day,  when  the  influence  of  bright  sun- 
shine a  little  revived  the  spirits  of  AJontrevilie,  to  leave  him  for  an 
hour,  and  accompany  the  picture  to  the  shop  of  the  obliging  print- 
seller,  that  it  might  be  packed  more  skilfully  than  by  licrself. 

After  seeing  it  safely  put  up,  she  gave  tiie  addre'ss  to  Wilkins, 
who  immediately  exclaimed^  *'  So,  Ma'am,  you  have  foundout  the 
secret  tliat  you  would  not  let  me  tell  you  ?''  "  AVhat  secret?"  in- 
quired Laura.  "  The  name  of  the  gentleman.  Ma'am,  that  bought 
your*pictures."  *'  Was  it  De  Courcy,  then  ?"  "  Yes,  Ma'am  ;— 
thougli  to  be  sure  it  might'n't  be  the  'same.  But  1  suppose  you'll 
know  him.  Ma'am.  A  tall  pleasant  looking  gentlen»an,  Ma'am. 
The  pictures  were  sent  home  to  Audley  street. '  Laura's  coimte- 
iiance  brightened  with  satisfaction,  and  she  suffered  her  informer 
to  proceed.  •*  1  am  sure,"  continued  he,  "  1  managed  that  busi- 
ness to  the  very  best  of  my  power,  and,  as  one  may  say,  very  dex- 
terously," "  Was  there  any  occasion  for  management?"  inquired 
Laura  *'  Oh,  yes,  Mu'am  ;  for  when  he  seemed  very  much  taken 
vvith  the  first  yne,  then  I  told  him  all  about  you,  just  a*  1  had  it  all 


^"  m 

from  Mrs.  Dawklns,  and  how  you  were  so  anxious  to  have  it  soM 
and  then  he  said  he'd  have  it,  and  paid  the  money  into  my  hands  ; 
and  then  I  told  him  how  you  looked  the  first  day  you  brought  it 
here,  and  that  you  were  just  ready  to  cry  about  it;  and  then  he 
said  he  must  have  a  companion  to  it." 

The  flush,  both  of  pride  and  vexation,  for  once  stained  the  trans- 
parent skin  of  Laura.  Yet  it  was  but  for  a  moment ;  and  her  next 
feeling  was  pleasure  at  the  confirmation  of  the  benevolent  character 
with  which  her  imagination  had  invested  De  Courcy.  He  had 
purchased  her  work  when  she  was  quite  unknown  to  him,  only,  as 
she  thought,  from  a  wish  to  reward  industiy,  and  because  he  had 
been  led  to  believe  that  the  price  was  an  object  to  the  artist  Had 
ftnother  been  the  purchaser,  she  might  Iiave  allowed  something  for 
the  merit  of  the  piece  ;  but  Laura  was  not  yet  cured  of  first  ima- 
gining characters,  and  then  bending  facts  to  suit  her  theory. 
Sooner  than  bate  one  iota  from  De  Courcy's  benevolence,  she  would 
have  assigned  to  her  picture  the  rank  of  a  sign-post. 

She  now  remembered,  that  in  her  visits  to  Audley  Street  she  had 
never  seen  her  works  ;  and  in  her  approbation  of  the  delicacy  which 
prompted  De  Courcy  to  conceal  that  she  was  known  to  him  as  an 
artist,  she  forgot  the  little  prejudice  which  this  concealment  im- 
plied. De  Courcy,  indeed,  was  himself  unconscious  that  he  enter- 
tained any  such  prejudice.  He  applauded  Laura's  exertions ;  he 
approved  of  the  spirit  that  led  a  young  woman  of  family  to  dare,  in 
spite  of  custom,  to  be  useful.  Yet  he  could  not  help  acting  as  if 
she  had  shared  the  opinion  of  the  world,  and  been  herself  ashamed 
of  her  labours.  But  this  was  a  shame  that  Laura  knew  not.  She 
wished  not  indeed  to  intrude  on  the  world's  notice.  Her  choice 
was  peaceful  obscurity.  But  if  she  must  be  known,  she  would 
have  far  preferred  the  distinction  earned  by  ingenious  industry,  to 
the  notoriety  which  wealth  and  luxury  can  purciiase. 

On  her  return  home,  she  found  her  father  reading  a  letter  which 
he  had  just  received  from  De  Courcy.  It  seemed  written  in  an 
hour  of  melancholy.  The  writer  made  no  mention  of  returning  to 
town  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  expressed  a  hope  that  Montreville  might 
now  be  able  to  undertake  a  journey  to  Scotland.  He  besought  the 
Captain  to  remember  him,  to  speak  of-  him  often,  and  to  write  to 
him  sometimes;  and  ended  with  these  words — "Farewell,  my 
friend  ;  the  dearest  of  my  earthly  hopes  is,  that  we  may  one  day 
meet  again,  though  years,  long  years,  must  first  intervene," 

•*  So  ends  my  last  hope,"  said  Montreville,  letting  his  head  sink 
mournfully  on  his  breast ;  "  De  Courcy  comes  not,  and  thou  must 
be  left  alone  and  unprotected."  "  The  protection  of  so  young  a 
man,"  said  Laura,  avoiding  to  answer  to  a  foreboding  which  she 
considered  merely  as  a  symptom  of  her  father's  disease,  "  might 
not  perhaps  have  appeared  adv.antageous  to  me  in  the  eyes  of  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  Mr.  De  Courcy  "  "  It  would  have 
given  comfort  to  niy  dying  hour,"  said  Montreville,  "  to  consign 
thee  to  such  a  guardian— such  a  husband."  "  A  husband  !"  cried 
Laura,  startii^g,  and  turning  pale.    "  Heaven  be  praised,  that  Mr. 


TI3 

DeCourcy  never  harboured  such  a  thought !"  Monti  eville  lookca 
up  in  extreme  surprise  ;  and  inquired  the  reason  of  her  tlumkft'.l- 
ness.  "  Oh  Sir,'*  she  replied,  **  we  owe  so  much  to  Mr.  De  Com  cy's 
fric!.ds!tip,  that  I  should  have  hated  n^yseHfoi-  being-  unublc  to  re- 
turn his  affection — and  pity  would  it  have  been  that  the  love  of  so 
amiable  a  being-  should  have  been  bestowed  in  vain" 

Montieville  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  if  to  seek  for  fiirther  ex- 
planation, and  continued  to  g-aze  on  her  face,  when  his  thoughts 
had  wa:idered  frdm  the  examination  of  it.  After  some  minutes  of 
silence,  he  s.iid — *'  Laura,  you  once  rejected  an  alliance,  splendid 
beyond  my  hopes,  almost  beyond  my  wislies,  and  tliat  v.ith  a  man 
formed  to  be  the  darling- of  your  sex  ;  and  now  you  speak  aa  if  evcrv 
Montague  De  Courcy  would  have  failed  to  gain  you.  Tell  me,  then, 
have  you  any  secret  attaciimcnt  ?  Speak  candidly,  Laura — you  will 
not  always  have  a  father  to  confide  in." 

Deep  crimson  dyed  the  cheeks  of  Laura  ;  but,  with  the  h.esita- 
tion  of  a  moment,  she  replied — **  No,  Sir,  I  have  no  wish  to  iTutrrr. 
I  pretend  not  to  lay  open  my  whole  heart  to  you  ;  but  1  may  with 
truth  assure  you,  that  there  is  not  at  this  moment  a  man  in.  being 
with  whom  I  would  unite  myself.  1  know  you  would  not  be  grati- 
fied by  extorted  confidence." 

'•'  No,  Laura,*'  said  Montreville,  "  I  ask  no  more  than  you  wil- 
lingly avow.  I  confide,  as  1  have  always  done,  in  your  prudcnc  c  and 
integrity  Soon,  alas  !  you  will  have  no  other  guides.  But  it  was 
my  heart's  wish  t'.>  see  you  united  to  a  man  who  could  value  and 
protect  yourworth— of  late,  more  especially,  when  1  feel  thatl  so 
soon  must  leave  you."' 

**  My  dearest  fattier,"  said  Laura,  throwing  her  arm  aftection- 
ately  round  his  neck,  •*  do  not  give  way  to  such  gloomy  forebo- 
dings. Your  spirits  are  oppressed  by  confinemeut — let  us  but  sec 
Glenalbert  again,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"  I  shall  never  see  Glenalbert,"  said  Montreville — *^  and  left 
alone  in  such  aplace  as  this,  without  money,  without  friends,  v»  1th- 
out  a  home — wliere  shaU  my  child  find  safety  or  shelter  ?" 

*'  Indeed,  Sir,"  said  Laura,  though  a  cold  slruddermg  seized  her, 
*'  your  fears  have  no  foundation.  Only  yesterday  Or.  Flint  told  me 
that  your  complaints  were  without  danger,  and  that  a  little  exercise 
would  make  j'ou  quite  strong  again. "^ 

Montreville  shook  his  head.  "  Ur.  FVSt  deceives  you,  Laura,** 
said  he — '•  you  deceive  yourself."  "  No,  indeed,"  said  Luui-a, 
though  she  trembled  ;  *'  you  look  m^ich  better — you  are  much  bet- 
ter-. It  is  onh-  tliese  melancholy  thoughts  that  retard  your  recovery. 
Trust  yourself— trust  me  to  the  Providence  that  has  iiitherto 
watched  over  us." 

*'  1  could  die  without  alarm,"*  said  Montreville  ;  "  but  to  leave, 
thee  alone  and  in  want — Oh  !  I  cannot  bear  it."  "  Should  the  worst 
befall,"  said  Laura,  turning  pale  as  alabaster,  *'  think  thut  I  shall 
not  be  alone,  1  shall  not  want,  for" — her  voice  failed,  but  she  raised 
••cr  eyes  with  an  expression  that  filled  up  the  ermobiing  sentiment 
*•  i  believe  it,  my  love,"   said  Montreville,  "  but  you  feel  thesfi 

K  2 


isolations  more  strongly  than  I  do.    Leave  me  for  the  present, 

am  fatig-ued  with  speaking-,  and  wish  to  be  alone." 

Laura  irptired  to  her  own  room,  and  endeavoured  herself  to  prac- 
tise the  trust  which  she  recommended  to  her  father.  Her  medita- 
tions were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  her  landlady,  Mrs.  Stubbs, 
who,  with  many  courtesies  and  apologies,  said  that  she  was  come 
to  present  her  account. 

Laura,  who  always  had  pleasure  in  cancelling  a  debt  the  moment 
it  was  incurred,  and  who  conceived  no  apology  to  be  necessary 
from  those  who  came  to  demand  only  their  own,  received  her 
landlady  very  graciously,  and  begged  her  to  be  seated,  while  she 
went  to  bring  her  father's  purse.  Mrs.  Stubbs  spread  her  bills 
upon  the  table  ;  and  Laura,  after  examining  them,  was  obliged  to 
ask  an  explanation. 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  returned  the  landlady,  "  there  are  fourteen 
^ineas  for  lodgings  for  six  weeks,  and  10/.  15«.  for  victuals  and 
other  articles  that  I  have  furnished.  I  am  sure  I  have  kept  an 
exact  account." 

"  I  understood,"  said  Laura,  "  that  we  were  to  have  the  lodg- 
ings for  a  guinea  and  a  half  a-week,  and" — "  A  guinea  and  a  half." 
cried  the  landlady,  colom*ing  with  wrath  at  this  disparagement  of 
her  property.  *'  Sure,  Miss,  you  did  not  think  to  have  lodgings 
such  as  these  for  a  guinea  and  a  half  a-week.  No,  no— these  lodg- 
ings have  never  been  let  for  less  than  four  guineas,  and  never  shall, 
as  long  as  my  name  is  Bridget." 

Laura  mildly  pleaded  her  ignorance  of  those  matters,  and  urged 
De  Courcy*s  information  as  an  excuse  for  her  mistake.  "  To  be 
sure,  ma*am,"  said  the  now  pacified  Mrs.  Stubbs,  "  nobody  that 
know'd  any  thing  of  the  matter,  would  expect  to  have  such  rooms 
f«r  less  than  four  guineas ;  and  that  was  what  the  gentleman  said, 
when  he  took  them ;  so  he  paid  me  two  guineas  and  a  half  advance 
for  four  weeks,  and  charged  me  not  to  let  you  know  of  it ;  but  I 
can't  abide  them  secret  doings  ;  and,  besides,  if  I  take  only  a  guinea 
and  a  half  from  you,  where  was  I  to  look  for  the  rest  of  my  rent 
for  the  last  fortnight  ?— for  the  young  gentleman  seems  to  have 
taken  himself  off," 

Laura  suffered  her  loquacious  hostess  to  proceed  without  inter- 
ruption, for  her  thoughts  were  fully  occupied.  She  had  incurred 
a  debt  greater,  by  five  guineas,  than  she  had  been  prepared  to  ex- 
pect ;  and  this  s«im  was,  in  her  present  circumstances,  of  great  im- 
portance. Yet  her  predominant  feeling  was  grateful  approbation 
©f  De  Courcy's  benevolence  ;  nor  did  her  heart  at  all  upbraid  him 
with  the  consequences  of  his  well-meant  deception.  "  Kind,  con- 
siderate De  Courcy,"  thought  she ;  "  he  had  hoped  that,  ere  now, 
we  should  have  ceased  to  need  his  generosity,  and  even  have  been 
removed  from  the  possibility  of  discovering  it." 

Recollecting  herself,  she  paid  the  landlady  her  full  demand ; 
and,  dismissing  her,  sat  down  to  examine  what  remained  of  her 

dances.    AU  that  she  possesseU;  s^c  found  amounted  to  no  more 


115 

tiian  one  granea  and  a  few  shilling's  ;  and  dropping  the  money  into 
her  lap,  she  sat  gazing  on  it  in  blank  dismay. 

The  poverty,  whose  approach  she  had  so  long  contemplated  with 
a  fearful  eye,  had  now  suddenly  overtaken  her.  Husbanded  with 
whatever  care,  the  sum  before  her  cotdd  minister  only  to  the 
wants  of  a  few  hours.  In  her  present  habitation,  it  would  scarcely 
purchase  shelter  for  another  night  from  the  storm  which  a  keen 
winter-wind  was  beginning  to  drive  against  her  window .  An  im- 
mediate supply  then  was  necessary;  but  where  could  that  supply 
be  found  ?  It  was  too  late  to  resort  to  the  earnings  of  her  own 
genius.  Painting  was  a  work  of  time  and  labour.  No  hasty  pro- 
duction was  likely  to  find  favour  amidst  the  competition  of  studied 
excellence.  Even  the  highest  effort  of  her  art  might  long  wait  a 
purchaser  ;  and  tears  fell  from  the  eyes  of  Laura  while  she  reflect- 
ed that,  even  if  she  could  again  produce  a  Leonidas,  she  might 
never  again  find  a  De  Courcy. 

To  borrow  money  on  the  captain's  half  pay,  was  an  expedient 
which  Laura  had  always  rejected,  as  calculated  to  load  their  scan- 
ty income  with  a  burden  which  it  could  neither  shake  ofFnor  bear. 
But  even  to  this  expedient  she  could  no  longer  have  recourse  ; 
for  Montreville  had  assured  her  tliat,  in  his  present  state  of 
healtli,  it  would  be  impossible  to  mortgage  his  annuity  for  a  single 
guinea. 

She  might  raise  a  small  supply  by  stripping  her  beloved  Glenal- 
bertofsome  of  its  little  luxuries  and  comforts  ;  but,  long  before  this 
revolting  business  could  be  transacted,  she  must  be  absolutely 
pennyless.  Nor  did  she  dare,  without  consulting  her  father,  to 
give  orders  for  dismantling  Jiis  home.  And  how  should  she  in- 
form him  of  the  necessity  for  such  a  sacrifice  ?  Weakened  both  in 
body  and  in  mind,  how  would  he  endure  the  privations  that  attend- 
ed on  leal  penury  ?  His  natuj-ally  feeble  spirits  already  crushed  to 
the  earth,  his  kindly  temper  already,  by  anxiety  and  disappoint- 
ment, tUTned  to  gall,  his  anxieties  for  his  child  alarmed  even  to 
anguish,  how  could  he  bear  to  learn  that  real  want  had  reached 
him — had  reached  that  dear  child,  whom  the  dread  of  leaving  to 
poverty  was  poisoning  the  springs  of  life  within  him  ?  "  He  thinks 
he  is  about  to  leave  me,'*  cried  she,  "  and  shall  I  tell  him  that  I 
must  owe  to  charity  even  the  sod  that  covers  him  from  me  ?  No  ; 
I  will  perish  first  ;'*  and,  starting  from  her  seat,  sJie  paced  the  room 
in  distressful  meditation  on  the  means  of  concealing  from  her  fa- 
ther the  extent  of  their  calamity. 

She  determined  to  take  upon  herself  the  care  of  their  little  fund, 
under  pretence  that  the  trouble  was  too  great  for  Montreville.  He 
had  of  late  shewn  such  listless  indifference  to  all  domestic  con- 
cerns, that  she  hoped  he  might  never  inquire  into  the  extent  of  his 
landlady's  demand,  or  that  his  inquiries  might  be  eluded.  It  seem- 
ed a  light  thing  in  Laura's  eyes  to  suffer  alone ;  or  rather  she 
thought  not  of  her  own  sufferings,  could  she  but  spare  to  her  father 
the  anguish  of  knowing  himself  and  his  child  utterly  destitute.  She 
judged  of  his  feelings  by  h^r  own  j  felt,  by  sympathy,  all  Uie  pangs 


116 

\vith  whlcli  lie  would  witness   wants  which  he  could  not  supjS^ 
and  she  inwardly  vov.ed  to  conceal  from  him  every  privation  that 
she  mi^ht  endure, — ^every  labour  that  she  mig-ht  underg-o. 

But,  void  of  every  resource,  far  fi-om  every  friend,  destitute 
amid  boundless  wealth,  alone  amid  countless  multitudes,  whither 
should  she  turn  for  aid,  or  even  for  counsel  ?  "  Whither,"  crietl  she, 
dropping-  on  her  knees,  "  except  to  Him  who  hath  supplied  me  in 
yet  niore  urgent  want,  who  hath  counselled  roe  in  yet  more  fearful 
diificulty,  who  hath  fed  my  soulwith  ang^el's  food,  and  guided  it 
with  light  from  heaven  ?"  Laura  rose  from  her  devotions,  more 
confiding'  in  the  cai-e  of  Providence,  more  able  to  consider  calmly 
of  improving  the  means  which  still  remained  within  her  oWn 
power. 

Before  she  could  finish  and  dispose  of  a  picture,  weeks  must 
elapse  for  which  she  could  make  no  provis'.on.  To  painting,  there- 
fore, slie  could  not  liave  immediate  recourse.  But  sKelches  in 
chalk  could  be  finished  with  expedition  ;  the  pvintseller  might  un- 
dertake the  sale  of  them  ;  and  the  lov/ness  of  the  price  might  invite 
purchasers.  Could  she  but  hope  to  obtain  a  subsistence  for  her 
father,  she  would  labour  night  and  day,  deprive  herself  of  recrea- 
tion, of  rest,  even  of  daily  food,  rather  than  wound  his  heart  by  an 
acquaintance  with  poverty.  "  And  since  his  pride  is  hurt  by  the 
labours  of  his  child,'*  said  she,  "  even  his  pride  sliall  be  sacred. 
He  shall  never  knov/  my  labours."  And,  so  frail  arc  even  the  best, 
that  an  emotion  of  pride  swelled  the  bosom  of  Laura  at  the 
thought  that  the  merit  of  her  toils  was  enhanced  by  their  secrecy. 
The  resolutions  of  Laura  were  ever  the  immediate  prelude  to 
action  ;  and  here  was  no  time  for  delay.  She  again  looked  mourn- 
fully upon  her  little  treasure,  hopelessly  re-examined  the  purse 
that  contained  it ;  again,  with  dismay,  remembered  that  it  w:is 
her  all ;  then,  hastily  putting  it  into  her  pocket,  she  drew  her  port- 
folio towards  her,  and  began  to  prepai'e  for  her  work  with  the 
hurry  of  one  to  vvhom  every  moment  seems  precious.  Invention 
was  at  present  impossible;  but  she  tried  to  recollect  one  of  her 
former  designs,  and  busied  herself  in  sketching  it  till  the  hour  of 
dinner  arrived.  She  then  went  to  summon  her  father  from  his 
chamber  to  the  eating-room.  "  This  day,*  thought  she,  '*  I  must 
share  his  precarious  sustenance — another  I  shall  be  more  provi- 
dent. And  is  this  then,  perhaps,  our  last  social  meal  ?"  and  she 
turned  for  a  moment  from  tlie  door,  to  suppress  the  emotion  that 
would  have  choaked  her  utterance.  "  Come  tn,  my  dear,"  cried 
Montreville,  who  had  heard  her  footstep  ;  and  Laura  entered  with 
a  smile.  Siie  offered  her  arm  to  assist  him  in  d' scending  to  the 
parlour.  "  V'^hy  will  you  always  urge  me  o  go  d  )wn  stairs,  Lau- 
ra ?"  said  he  ;  •*  you  see  1  am'  unequal  to  the  fat.ic"e."  "  I  shali 
not  urge  you  to-morrow,*'  answered  Laura  :  und  Montreville 
thought  the  tears  which  stood  in  her  eyes,  were  the  consequence 
of  the  impatient  tone  in  which  he  had    poken. 

During- the  evening,  Laura  i- voided    U  mention      restoring  the 
purse  to  her  father,  and  hs  api  eared  \q  li^ve  forg  tton  its  exist- 


117 

ciice.  But,  by  no  effo^could  she  beguile  those  cheerless  hours. 
Her  utmost  exertions  ^re  necessary  to  maintain  the  appearance 
of  composure  ;  and  De  Courcy's  letter  seemed  to  have  consum- 
mated Montreville's  feeling's  of  sohtude  and  desolation.  Wilfully, 
and  without  effort,  he  suffered  his  spirits  to  expire.  His  whole 
train  of  thinking;  had  become  habitually  gloomy.  He  was  wretch- 
ed, even  without  reference  to  his  situation,  and  the  orig-inal  cause 
of  his  melancholy  was  rather  the  excuse  than  the  reason  of  his 
depression.  But  this  only  rendered  more  hopeless  all  attempts  to 
cheer  him  ;  for  the  woes  of  the  imagination  have  this  dire  pre- 
eminence over  those  which  spring  from  real  evils,  tliat,  while 
tliese  can  warm  at  times  in  benevolent  joy,  or  even  brighten  for  a 
moment  to  the  flash  of  innocent  gaiety,  the  selfishness  of  the 
fonner,  chequered  by  no  kindly  feeling,  reflects  not  the  sun- 
4iy  smile  ;  as  tlie  dark  and  noisome  fog  drinks  in  vain  the  beam 
of  Heaven. 

Montreville,  when  in  health,  had  been  always  and  justly  con- 
sidered a  kind-hearted,  good-natured  man.  He  had  been  a  most 
indulgent  husband,  an  easy  master,  and  a  fond  father.  He  was 
honourable,  generous,  and  friendly.  Those  who  had  witnessed 
his  patient  endurance  of  Lady  Harriet's  caprice  had  given  his 
philosophy  a  credit  which  was  better  due  to  his  indolence  :  for 
the  grand  defect  of  Montreville's  character  was  a  total  want  of  for- 
titude and  self-command  ;  and  of  these  failings  he  was  now  pay- 
ing the  penalty.  His  health  was  injured  by  his  voluntary  inaction, 
his  fancy  aggravated  his  real  disorder,  and  multiplied  to  infinity 
his  imaginary  ^Iments.  He  had  habituated  his  mind  to  images  of 
disaster,  till  it  nad  become  incapable  of  receiving  any  but  comfort- 
less and  doleful  impressions. 

Afier  spending  a  few  silent  hours  without  effort  towards  em- 
ployment or  recreation,  he  retired  for  the  night ;  and  Laura  ex- 
perienced a  sensation  of  relief,  as  shutting  herself  into  her  apart- 
ment, she  prepared  to  resume  her  labours.  After  every  other 
member  of  the  family  had  retired  to  rest,  she  continued  to  work 
till  her  candle  expired  in  the  socket ;  and  then  threw  herself  on 
her  bed  to  rise  again  with  the  first  blush  of  dawn. 

Montreville  had  been  accustomed  to  breakfast  in  his  own  room  ; 
Laiu'a  therefore  found  no  difficulty  in  beginning  her  system  of  ab- 
stemiousness. Hastily  swallowing  a  ftw  moutlit'uls  of  dry  bread, 
she  continued  her  diawing,  till  her  father  rang  for  his  chocolate. 
She  was  fully  resolved  to  adhere  to  tliis  plan,  to  labour  with  un- 
ceasing industry-,  and  to  deny  herself  whatever  was  not  essential 
to  her  existence'. 

But  neither  hard  fare,  nor  labour,  nor  confinement,  could  occa- 
sion to  Laura  such  pain  as  she  suffered  from  another  of  the  ne- 
cessities of  her  situation.  Amidst  her  mournful  reflections,  it  had 
occurred  to  her,  that  unless  she  would  incur  a  debt  which  she 
could  not  hope  to  discharge,  it  would  he  necessary  to  dismiss  the 
surgeon  who  attended  her  father.  All  her  ideas  of  honour  and 
integrity  revolted  from  sufferings  a  man  to  expend  his  time  and 


118 

trouble,  in  fexpeclatioii  of  a  return  wl)'.cl)gdie  was  unable  to  make- 
She  was  btiskles  convinced  that  in  Momrtvi lie's  case  medicine 
could  be  of  no  avail.  Rut  she  feared  to  hint  the  subject  to  her  fa- 
ther, lest  she  should  lead  to  a  discovery  of  their  present  circum- 
stances ;  and  such  washer  conviction  of  the  feebleness  of  his  spl- 
ritS;  a  ?d  stich  her  dread  of  the  consequences  of  their  increasin.^  dc- 
pression,  that  all  earthly  evils  seemed  liJjht  compared  with  that  of 
adtling-  to  his  distress.  Laura  perhaps  jiidged  wrong- ;  for  one  real 
evil  sometimes  ameliorates  the  condition,  by  ^nitling-  to  flig-ht  a 
host  of  imiig'inary  calamities,  and  by  compelling  that  eS:erti(iii 
whicli  makes  any  situation  tolerable.  Hut  she  trembled  for  the  ef- 
fects of  the  slig-litest  additional  suffering- upon  tlie  life  or  the  rea- 
son of  her  father  ;  nud  she  v/ould  liave  thouii^ht  it  little  less  than 
parricide  to  add  anew  bruise  to  the  wounde<l  spirit.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  dreaded  that  Montreville,  if  kept  in  igmorance  of  its  real 
cause,  mij^lit  consider  the  desertirin  of^ifrpicciical  attendant  as  an 
intimation  that  his  case  was  hopeless,  J^i^rha])s  become  the  vic- 
tim of  his  imaginary  dang-er. 

S!ie  knew  not  on  what  to  resolve.  Her  distress  and  perjjlexJty 
were  extreme  ;  and  if  any  thing-  could  have  vanquished  the  stub4 
born  integ-rity  of  Laura,  the  present  temptation  would  have  pre- 
vailed. But  no  wilful  fraud  could  be  the  issue  of  her  delibera- 
tions, who  was  steadily  convinced  that  inflexible  justice  looks  on 
to  blast  with  a  curse  even  the  successful  schemes  of  villany,  and 
to  shed  a  blessing  on  the  sorrows  of  the  upright.  She  would  not 
even  for  her  father  incur  a  debt  which  she  could  never  hope  to 
l)ay  ;  and  nothing  remained  but  to  consider  of  tl^e  best  means  of 
executing  her  painful  determination. 

Here  a  new  difficulty  occurred,  fjr  she  could  not  decline  tb&' 
surgeon's  further  attendance  without  offering  to  discharge  what 
she  already  owed.  In  the  present  state  of  her  funds,  this  was  ut- 
terly impossible  ;  for  though,  at  her  i-^stig-ation,  his  bill  had  been 
lately  paid,  she  was  sure  that  the  new  one  must  already  amount 
to  more  than  all  she  possessed.  How  to  procure  the  necessary 
supply  she  knew  not ;  for  even  if  she  could  have  secured  the  im- 
mediate sale  of  her  drawings,  the  price  of  her  daily  and  nightly  toil 
would  scarcely  suffice  to  pay  for  the  expensive  habitation  which 
she  durst  not  propose  to  leave,  and  to  bribe  the  fastidious  appetite 
of  Montreville  witli  dainties  of  which  he  could  neither  bear  the 
want  nor  fed  the  enjoyment. 

Once  only,  and  it  was  but  for  a  moment,  she  thought  of  appeal- 
ing to  the  humanity  of  Dr.  Flint,  of  unfoldmg  to  him  her  situation^ 
and  begg-^ing  his  atteiidance  upon  the  chance  of  future  remuntra- 
tion.  But  Laura  was  destined  once  more  to  pay  the  penaby  of  her 
liastyjudgmentsof  ch.aracter.  On  Montreville's  first  ilhiess,  Dr. 
Flint  had  informed  Laura,  with  (as  she  thought)  great  want  of 
feeling,  of  her  father's  danger.  He  was  a  gaunt,  atrabilious. 
Stern -lookiiig  man,  with  a  rough  voice,  and  cold  repulsive  man- 
ners. He  had,  moreover,  an  uninviting  name  ;  and  though  Laura 
was  asliamed  to  confess  t  herself  that  such  trifles  cotdd  influs»i.c? 


119 

her  judgment,  these  disadvantages  were  tlie  real  cause  why  she 
always  met  Dr.  Flint  with  a  sensation  rcsemhling-  tliatwith  which 
one  encounters  a  cold,  damp,  northeast  wind.  To  make  any  claim 
upon  the  benevolence  of  a  stranger — and  such  a  stranger  !  It  was 
nat  to  i)e  thought  of.  Yet  Laura's  opinion,  or  rather  her  feelings, 
wronged  Dr.  Flint.  His  extcnor,  it  is  true,  was  far  from  prepos- 
sessing. It  is  also  true,  that,  considering  Moiilvcville's  first  ill- 
ness as  the  effect  of  a  very  unpardonable  levity  on  tlie  part  of  Lau- 
ra, he  had  spoken  to  her  on  that  occasion  with  even  more  than 
his  usual  frigidity.  Nor  did  he  either  possess  or  lay  claim  to  any 
great  share  of  sensibility ;  but  he  was  not  destitute  of  htimanity ; 
and  had  Laura  explainccl  to  him  her  situation,  he  would  willingly 
have  attended  ht.T  father  without  prospect  of  recompense.  13ut 
l^iura  did  not  put  his  benevolence  to  tlie  test.  She  suffered  him 
to  make  his  morning  visit  and  depart  ;  while  she  was  considering 
of  A  plan  which  apjieared  little  less  revolting. 

"  aura  knew  th-t  one  of  the  most  elegant  houses  in  Grosvenor 
Street  was  inhabited  by  a  Lady  Pelham,  the  daughter  of  Lady 
Harriet  Montreville's  mother  by  a  former  marriage.  She  knew 
that,  for  many  years,  little  intercourse  had  subsisted  between  the 
sistirs  ;  and  that  her  father  was  even  wholly  unknown  to  Ladv  I'el- 
liam.  But  she  was  ignorant,  that  the  imprudence  of  her  mother's 
marriage  served  as  the  excuse  for  a  coldness,  which  had  reail}-  ex- 
isted before  it  had  any  such  pretext. 

With  all  her  Scottish  prejudice  in  favour  of  the  claims  of  kin- 
dred (and  Laura  in  this  and  many  other  respects  was  entirely  a 
Scotch  woman,)  slie  could  not,  without  the  utmost  repugnance, 
think  of  applying  to  her  relation.  To  introduce  herself  to  a  stran- 
ger wliom  she  had  never  seen — ^to  appear  not  only  as  an  inferior, 
but  as  a  supplicant — a  beggar  !  Laura  had  long  and  successfully 
combated  the  innate  pride  of  human  nature  ;  but  her  humility  al- 
most failed  under  this  trial.  Her  illustrious  ancestry — the  digi\ity 
if  a  gentlewoman — the  independence  of  one  who  can  bear  to  la- 
bour and  endure  to  want,  all  rose  successively  to  her  mind  ;  for 
Jride  can  wear  many  specious  forms.  But  she  had  nt  arcr  claims 
-ban  the  honour  of  her  ancestry— tlearer  concerns  than  her  per- 
onal  importance  ;  and  when  she  thought  of  her  father,  she  felt  that 
the  was  no  longer  independent. 

Severe  was  her  struggle,  and  bitter  were  the  tears   which  she 

:hed  over  the  conviction  that  it  was  right  that  she  should  become 

t)ctitioner  for  the  bounty  of  a  stranger.     In  vain  did  she  repeat 

.rself,  that  she  was  a  debtor  to  the  care  of  Providence  for  her 

!y  bread,  and  was  not  entitled  to  choose  the  means  1  y  which  it 

as  supplied.     She  could  not  conquer  her  reluctance.     liut  she 

oul  1  act  right  in  defiance  of  it.  [She  could  sacrifice  her  own  feel- 

igs  to  the  comfort  of  her  f^ither — to  a  sense  of  duty.     Nay,  upon 

ejection,  she  could  rejoice  that  circumstances  compelled  her  to 

Hell  that  proud  spirit  with  whidi,  ^s  a  Christian,  she  maintained 


120 

AVLlle  these  thoughts  were  passing^  in  her  mind,  she  had  finish- 
ed her  drawing  ;  and,  impatient  to  know  how  far  this  sort  ofla- 
hour  was  likely  to  be  profitable,  she  furaished  her  father  with  a 
book  to  amuse  him  in  her  absence;  and,  for  the  first  time  since 
they  had  occupied  their  present  lodgings,  expressed  a  wish  to 
take  a  walk  for  amusement.  Had  Montreville  observed  the  blushes 
that  accompanied  this  little  subterfuge,  he  would  certainly 
have  suspected  that  the  amusement  which  this  walk  promised  was 
of  no  common  kind  ;  but  he  was  in  one  of  his  reveries,  hanging 
over  the  mantle-piece,  with  his  forehead  resting  on  his  arm, 
and  did  not  even  look  up  while  he  desired  her  not  to  be  long 
absent. 

She  resolved  to  go  first  to  Lady  Pelham,  that  coming  early 
she  might  find  her  disengaged,  and  afterwards  to  proceed  to  the 
print-shop. 

The  wind  blew  keen  across  the  snow  as  Laura  began  her  reluc- 
tant pilgrimage.  Her  summer  attire,  to  which  her  finances  could 
afford  no  addition,  ill  defended  her  from  the  blast.  Through  the 
streets  of  London  she  was  to  explore  her  way  unattended.  Ac- 
customed to  find  both  safety  and  pleasure  in  the  solitude  of  her 
walks,  she  was  to  mix  in  the  throngs  of  a  ruJe  rabble,  without 
protection  from  insult.  But  no  outward  circumstances  could  add 
to  the  feelings  of  comfortless  dismay  with  which  she  looked  for- 
ward to  the  moment,  when,  ushered  through  stately  apartments 
into  the  presence  of  self-important  greatness,  she  should  announce 
herself  a  beggar.  Her  courage  failed — she  paused,  and  made  one 
step  bact  towards  her  home.  But  she  recalled  her  former 
thoughts.  "1  have  need  to  be  humbled,"  said  she  ;  and  again  pro- 
ceeded on  her  way. 

As  she  left  the  little  garden  that  surrounded  her  lodgings,  she 
perceived  an  old  man  who  had  taken  shelter  by  one  of  the  pillars 
of  the  gate.  He  shivered  in  the  cold,  which  found  easy  entrance 
through  the  rags  that  covered  him,  and  famine  glared  from  his 
hollow  eye.  His  gray  hairs  streamed  on  the  wind,  as  he  held  out 
the  tattered  remains  of  a  hat,  and  said,  "  Please  to  help  me.  Lady. 
— lam  very  poor."  He  spoke  in  the  dialect  of  her  native  land,  .• 
and  the  accents  went  to  Laura's  heart ; — for  Laura  was  in  the  land  | 
of  strangers.  She  had  never  been  deaf  to  the  petitions  of  the  poor ; 
for  all  the  poor  of  Glenalbert  were  known  to  her  ;  and  she  knew 
that  what  she  spared  from  her  own  comforts,  was  not  made  the 
minister  of  vice.  Her  purse  was  already  in  her  hand,  ere  she  re- 
membered that  to  give  was  become  a  crime. 

As  the  thought  crossed  her,  she  started  like  one  who  had  es; 
caped  from  sudden  danger.  "  No,  I  must  not  give  you  money,' 
said  she,  and  returned  the  pm'se  into  her  pocket,  with  a  pang  th 
taught  her  the  true  bitterness  of  poverty.  •*  I  am  cold  and  hui 
gry,"  said  the  man  still  pleading,  and  taking  encouragement  fr»i 
Laura's  relenting  eye.  "Himgiy  !"  repeated  Laura,  *•  then  come 
with  me,  and  I  will  give  you  bread  ;"  and  she  returned  to  the 
house  to  bestow  on  tUe  old  man  the  hurablg  fare  which  she  had 


121 

before  destiued  to  supply  her  own  wants  for  the  day,  glad  to  pur- 
chase by  a  lon^r  fast  the  right  to  ffecd  the  hungry. 

"  In  what  respect  am  I  better  than  this  poor  creature,"  said  she 
to  herself,  as  she  returned  with  the  begj^ar  to  the  g-ate,  "  that  I 
should  offer  to  him  with  ease,  and  even  with  pleasure,  what  T  my- 
self cannot  ask.  without  pain.  Surely  I  do  not  rig-htly  believe 
that  we  are  of  the  same  dust !  the  same  frail,  sinful,  perishable, 
dust ! ' 

But  it  was  in  vain  that  Laura  continued  to  argue  with  herself. 
In  this  instance  she  could  only  do  her  duty  ;  she  could  not  love  it. 
Her  heart  filled,  and  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes.  She  dashed  them 
away — but  they  rose  again 

When  she  found  herself  in  Grosvenor  Street,  she  paused  for  a 
moment.  "  What  if  Lady  Pclham  should  deny  my  request  ?  dis- 
miss me  as  a  bold  Intruder  ?  Why,  tlien,'*  said  Laura,  raising-  her 
head,  and  again  advancing  with  a  firmer  step,  "  I  shall  owe  no  ob- 
Hg-ation  to  a  stranger." 

She  approached  the  house— she  ascended  the  steps.  Almost 
breathless  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  knocker.  At  that  moment 
she  imagined  her  entrance  through  files  of  insolent  domestics,  in- 
to a  room  filled  with  gay  company.  She  anticipated  the  inquisi- 
tive glances— shrunk  in  fancy  from  the  supercilious  examination  ; 
and  she  again  drew  back  her  hand.  **  I  shall  never  have  courage 
to  face  all  this,"  thought  she.  While  we  hesitate,  a  trifle  turns 
the  scale.  Laura  perceived  that  slie  had  drawn  the  attention  of  a 
young  man  on  the  pavement,  who  stood  gazing  oti  her  with  fa- 
miliar curiosity  ;  and  she  knocked,  almost  before  she  was  sensible 
thatjshe  intended  it. 

The  time  appeared  immeasurable  till  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
maid  serxunt.  *'  Ts  Lady  Pciham  at  home  ?''  inquired  Laura,  ra- 
king encouragement  from  the  sight  of  one  of  her  own  sex  *'  No, 
Ma'am,"  answered  the  maid,  "  my  lady  is   gone  to  keep  Chi  jst- 

mas  in shire,  and  will  not  return  for  a  fortnight."  Laura  drew 

a  long  deep  breath,  as  if  a  weight  had  been  lifted  from  her  breast ; 
and,  suppressing  an  ejaculation  of  "  thank  Heaven,"  sprung  in 
the  lightness  of  her  heart  at  one  skip  from  the  door  to  the 
pavement. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

La-ura's  exultation  was  of  short  continuance.  She  hwW  ^ne 
but  a  few  steps  ere  she  reflected  that  the  wants  which  she  had  un- 
dertaken so  painful  a  visit  to  supply  were  as  claimant  as  ever,  and 
now  further  than  ever  from  a  cuance  of  relief  Mournfully  she 
pursued  her  way  towards  the  print-shop,  hopeleiSly  ^pjpttrin^ 

Vol.  I.  L 


122 

Lrr  urg-ent  and  probably  prolonged  necessities  with  her  confined 
2"esourccs. 

The  utmost  price  which  she  could  hope  to  receive  for  the  draw- 
inj^  she  carried,  would  be  far  from  sufficient  to  discharge  her  debt 
to  the  surgeon  ;  and  there  seemed  now  no  alternative  but  to  confess 
her  inability  to  pay,  and  to  throw  herself  upcm  his  mercy.  To  this 
measure,  however,  she  was  too  averse  to  adopt  it  without  recon- 
siderir.g-  every  other  possible  expedient.  She  thought  of  appeal- 
ing- to  the  friendship  of  Afrs.  Douglas,  and  of  suffering  Dr.  Flint  to 
continue  his  visits  till  an  answer  from  her  friend  should  enable  her 
to  close  the  connexion.  But  Mrs.  Douglas's  scanty  income  was 
taxed  to  the  uttei-most  by  the  maintenance  and  education  of  a  nu- 
nierotis  family,  by  the  liljeral  charities  of  its  owners,  and  by  the 
hospitable  spirit,  which,  banished  by  ostentation  from  more  splen- 
did iil)odes,  still  lingers  by  the  fireside  of  a  Scotch  clergyman. — 
Laura  was  sure  that  Mrs.  Douglas  would  supply  lier  wants  at 
wliatever  inconvenience  to  herself;  and  this  very  consideration 
withheld  her  from  making  application  to  her  fi'iend. 

Laura  had  heard  and  read  that  ladies  in  distress  had  found  sub- 
sistence by  the  s:ile  of  their  ornaments.  Rut  by  their  example  she 
could  not  profit ;  for  her  ornaments  were  few  in  number  and  of  no 
value.  She  ivore  indeed  a  locket,  which  she  had  once  received 
from  her  mother,  with  a  strong  injunction  neither  to  lose  nor  give 
it  away  ;  but  Laura,  in  her  profound  ignorance  of  the  value  of 
trinkets,  attached  no  estimation  to  this  one,  except  as  the  only  un- 
necessary gift  which  she  had  ever  received  from  her  mother.  "  It 
contains  almost  as  much  gold  as  a  guinea,"  said  she,  putting  her 
hand  to  it,  "  and  a  guinea  will  soon  be  a  great  treasure  to  me." — 
Still  she  determined  that  nothing  short  of  exti-emity  should  induce 
her  to  part  with  it ;  but  desirous  to  asct-itain  the  extent  of  this  last 
resource,  she  entered  the  shop  of  a  jeweller,  and  presenting  the 
locket,  begged  to  know  its  value. 

After  examining  it,  the  jeweller  replied  that  he  believed  it  might 
be  wcM'th  about  five  guineas,  "  for  though,*'  said  he,  **  the  setting 
is  antiquated,  these  emeralds  are  worth  something." 

At  the  mention  of  this  sum,  all  Laura's  difficulties  seemed  to 
vanish.  Besides  enabling  her  to  pay  the  surgeon,  it  woidd  make 
an  addition  to  her  little  fvmd.  With  vigorous  abstinence  on  her 
part,  this  little  fund,^together  with  the  price  of  her  incessant  la- 
bour, would  pay  for  her  lodgings,  and  support  her  father  in  happy 
ignorance  of  his  poverty,  till  he  was  able  to  remove  to  Glenalbert. 
Then,  when  he  was  quite  well  and  quite  able  to  bear  it,  she  would 
tell  him  how  she  had  toiled  for  him,  and  he  would  see  that  he  had 
not  lavished  his  fondness  on  a  thankless  child. 

These  thoughts  occupied  far  less  time  thdn  the  recital ;  and  yet, 
ere  they  were  passed,  Laura  had  untied  the  locket  from  her  neck, 
and  put  it  into  the  hands  of  the  jeweller.  It  was  not  till  she  saw 
it  in  the  hands  of  another,  that  she  felt  all  the  pain  of  parting  with 
h.  She  asked  to  see  it  once  more  ;  as  she  gazed  on  it  for  tlie  last 
tiit\c,  tears  trickled  from  her  eyes  ;  but  speedily  wiping  them  away- 


123 

and  averting  her  bead,  she  restored  the  locket  to  its  new  owner, 
and  taking  up  the  money,  departed.  ^. 

She  soon  arrived  at  the  print-shop,  and  findiiaByilkins  discn- 
gaged,  produced  her  drawing,  and  asked  him  to  poWhasc  it.^AVil. 
kins  h)oktd  at  it,  and  inquired  what  price  she  had  put  upr 
"1  am  quite  unacquainted  with  its  real  vahic,"  answeredshe, 
the  rapid  sale  of  my  work  is  at  present  sucli  an  object  to  me, 
1  shall  willingly  make  it  as  cheap  as  possible,  or  mUow  you  to- 
yotu-  own  p-ice."  "  Have  you  any  more  to  dispose  of,  Ma'am  ?" 
asked  Wilkins.  "  I  have  none  finished,"  answered  Laura,  "  butj 
tliinlc  1  could  promise  you  six  more  in  a  week  if  )OU  are  inelined  to 
take  them."  "  1  think,"  said  Wilkins,  after  some  consideration, 
**  I  might  venture  to  take  tliem  if  you  could  afford  them  for  half  a 
guinea  each."  *'  Y<m  shall  have  them,"  said  Laura,  with  a  sigh  ; 
*'•  but  I  think  half  a  guinea  rather  a  low — a  high,  1  believe,  I  mean." 

Laura  did  not  at  this  moment  exactly  know  what  she  meant  ; 
tor  her  eyes  had  just  rested  on  a  gentleman,  who,  with  his  back 
towards  lier,  was  busied  in  examining  a  book  of  caricatures.  She 
thought  she  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  person.  Only  one  form 
upon  earth  was  endowed  with  such  symmetry  and  grace  }  and  that 
form  was  Hargrave's.  He  slightly  turned  his  head,  and  Laura  was 
certain. 

"Though  Laura  neither  screamed  nor  fair-.ted,  thid  rccoc;nition 
was  not  made  without  - itreme  emotion.  She  trembled  violently, 
and  a  mist  spread  before  her  eyes  ;  but  she  remen^bered  the  ap- 
parently wilful  desertion  of  her  lover ;  and,  determined  neither  to 
claim  his  compassion  nor  gratify  his  vanity  by  any  of  the  airs  of  a 
forsaken  damsel,  she  quietly  turned  away  from  him,  and  leant 
against  the  counter  to  recover  strength  and  composure. 

She  v/as  resolved  to  quit  the  shop  the  instant  that  she  was  able  ; 
and  yet,  perhaps,  she  would  have  become  sooner  sensible  of  her 
recovered  powers  of  motion,  had  it  not  been  for  a  latent  hope  that 
the  caricatures  would  not  long  continue  so  very  interesting.  No 
one,  however,  accosted  her;  and  next  came  the  idea  that  Hargrave 
had  already  observed  her,  without  wishing  to  claim  her  acquaint- 
ance. Before  the  mortifying  thought  could  take  a  disthict  form, 
Laura  was  already  on  her  way  towards  the  door. 

"  Yoii  have  left  your  half-guinea.  Ma'am,"  said  Wilkins,  callin?i^ 
after  her  ;  and  Laura,  half  angry  at  being  detained,  turned  back  to 
fetch  it.  At  this  moment  Hargrave's  eye  fell  upon  her  half  averted 
face.  Surprise  and  joy  illuminating  his  fine  countenance,  "  l-.aura !" 
he  exclaimed,  "  is  it  possible  !  have  I  at  last  found  you !"  and 
springing  forward,  he  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  regardless  cA'^.he 
inquisitive  looks  and  significant  smiles  of  the  spectators  of  his 
transports.  But  to  the  scrutiny  of  strangers,  to  the  caresses  of 
Hargrave,  even  to  the  indecorum  of  her  situation,  poor  Laura  w  as 
insensible.  Weakened  by  the  fatigue  and  emotion  of  the  two  pre- 
ceding days,  overcome  by  the  sudden  conviction  that  she  had  not 
been  wilfully  neglected,  her  head  sunk  upon  the  shoulder  of  Ilar- 
g-rare,  and  sha  lost  all  consciousness. 


321 

When  Laura  recovered,  she  found  herself  in  a  little  parlour  ad- 
joininpf  to  the  shop,  with  no  attendant  but  Hargrave,  who  still  sup-  ■ 
ported  her  inj|g  arms.    Her  first  thought  was  vexation  at  her  own   ■ 
iil-tiined  sens^ity;  her  next,  a  resolution  to  make  no  further  for- 
feiture of  her  respectability,  but  rather,  by  the  most  stoical  coiii-  . 
posure,  to  regain  what  she  had  lost.     For  this  purpose,  she  soon 
discng-ag-ed  herself  from  her  perilous  support,  and  unwilling-  to 
speak  t.ll  secure  of  maintauiing  her  firmness,  she  averted  her  head, 
and  returned  all  llargrave's  raptures  of  love  and  joy  with  provok- 
ing silence. 

As  sooi\  as  she  had  completely  recovered  her  self-possession, 
she  rose,  and  apologizing  for  the  trouble  she  had  occasioned  him, 
ijaid  she  would  return  home.  Hargrave  eagerly  begged  permis- 
sion to  accompany  her,  saying  that  his  carriage  was  in  waiting, 
and  would  convey  them.  Laura,  with  cold  politeness,  declined 
his  offer.  Though  a  little  piqued  by  lier  manner,  Hargrave  trium- 
phed in  the  idea  that  he  retained  all  his  former  influence.  "  My 
bewitching  Laura,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand,  "I  beseech,  you  to 
lay  aside  this  ill-timed  coquetry.  After  ao  sweet,  so  interesting  a 
proof,  that  you  still  allow  me  some  power  over  your  feelings,  must 
I  accuse  you  of  an  affectation  of  coldness  ?'*  "  No,  sir,"  said  Laura 
indignantly,  "  rather  of  a  momentary  weakness,  for  which  I  de- 
spise myself." 

The  lover  could  not  indeed  have  chost  -i  a  more  unfavourable 
moment  to  express  his  exultation  ;  for  Laura's  feelings  of  humilia- 
tion and  self-reproach  were  just  then  raised  to  their  height,  by 
her  perceiving  the  faces  of  two  of  the  shop-hoys  peeping  through 
the  glass  door  with  an  aspect  of  roguish  curiosity.  Conscious  of 
lier  inability  to  walk  home,  and  feeling  her  situation  quite  intolera- 
ble, she  called  to  one  of  the  little  spies,  and  begged  that  he  would 
instantly  procure  her  a  hackney  coach. 

Hargrave  vehemently  remonstrated  against  this  order.  **  Why 
this  unkind  haste  ?"  said  he.  "  Surely  after  so  tedious,  so  tor. 
menting  an  absence,  you  need  not  grudge  me  a  few  short  mo-, 
ments."  Laura  thought  he  was  probably  liimself  to  blame  for  the 
absence  of  which  he  complained,  and  coldly  answering,  "  1  have 
already  been  detained  too  long,*'  was  about  to  quit  the  room,  when 
Hargrave,  impatiently  seizing  her  hand,  exclaimed,  "  Unfeeling 
Laura !  does  that  relentless  pride  never  slumber  I  Have  I  followed 
you  from  Scotland,  and  sought  you  for  three  anxious  months,  to 
be  met  without  one  kind  word,  one  pitying  look !" 

"  Followed  me  !"  repeated  Laura  wilh  surprise. 

*'  \cs,  upon  my  life,  my  journey  hither  had  no  other  object.-^ 
After  you  so  cruelly  left  me,  without  warning  or  f^u-ewell,  how 
cojil  1  I  endure  to  exist  in  the  place  wiiich  you  once  made  dcli},-ht- 
ful  to  me.  Indeed  I  could  not  bear  it.  I  resolved  to  pursue  yoil 
wherever  you  went,  to  breathe  at  least  the  same  air  witli  you,  some., 
times  to  feast  my  fond  eyes  with  that  form,  beyond  imagination 
iv>vdy~-.pc5haps  t»  wm  that  be^uilin^  5gr\il^  which  no  heart  C9,!i 


125 

withstand.  The  barbarous  caution  of  Mrs.  Douglas  in  refusing  me 
your  address,  has  caused  the  disappointment  of  all  my  hopes." 

Hargrave  had  egreji^'iously  mistaken  the  road  to  Laura's  favour 
when  he  threw  a  reflection  upon  her  friend.  "  Mrs.  Douglas  cer- 
tainly acted  right,"  said  she.  "  I  have  equal  conlidencc  in  her 
prudence  and  in  her  friendship."  "  Probably  then,"  said  llargi'aye, 
reddening  with  vexation,  '*  tliis  system  of  torture  originated  with 
you.  It  was  at  your  desire  tliat  your  friend  withstood  all  my  en- 
treaties." "  No,"  answered  Laura,  *'  I  cannot  claim  the  merit  of 
so  much  foresiglit.  1  certainly  did  not  expect  the  honour  that  you 
are  pleased  to  say  you  have  done  me,  especially  when  you  were 
doubtful  botli  of  aiy  abode  and  of  your  own  reception." 

"  Insulting  girl,"  cried  Hargrave,  ** you  know  too  v.ell,  that, 
liowever  received,  still  I  must  follow  you.  And,  but  for  a  scries  of 
the  most  tormenting  accidents,  I  should  have  defeated  the  caution 
of  your  cold-hearted  favourite.  At  the  Perth  post-office,  I  disco- 
vered that  your  letters  were  addressed  to  thecareof  Mr.  Baynard; 
and  the  very  hour  that  1  reached  London,  I  flew  to  make  inquiries 
after  you  i  found  that  Mr.  Uaynard's  house  was  shut  up,  and  that 
he  was  gone  in  bad  heuUh  to  Richmond.  I  followed  him,  and  was 
told  that  he  was  too  ill  to  be  spoken  with,  that  none  of  th  •  servants 
knew  your  abode,  as  the  footman  who  used  to  carry  messages  jto 
you  had  been  dismissed,  and  that  your  letters  were  now  left  at  Mr. 
Baynards  chambers  in  town.  Thither  I  went,  and  learnt  that,  ever 
since  Mr.  Haynard's  removal  to  Ulclimond,  you  had  yourself  sent  for 
.your  letters,  and  that,  of  course,,  the  clerks  were  entirely  ignorant 
of  your  residence.  Imagine  my  disappointment.  The  people, 
however,  promised  to  make  inquiries  of  your  messenger,-  and  to 
let  me  know  where  you  might  be  found ;  and  day  after  day  did  I 
liaunt  them,  the  sport  of  vain  hope  and  bitter  disappointment. — 
No  other  letter  ever  came  for  you,  nor  did  you  ever  inquire  for 
any," 

"  After  Mr.  Raynard's  removal  to  Ricbmond»"  said  l^aura,  "  I 
directed  Mrs.  i)^)uglas  to  address  her  letters  to  oiu*  lodgings." 

"  Ah  Laura,  think  what  anxieties,  what  wretchedness  "l  have 
suffered  in  my  fruitless  search  !  Yet  you  meet  me  only  to  drive  me 
coldly  from  your  presence.  Once  you  said  that  you  pardoned  ihe 
folly— the  madness  that  offerxled  you ;  but  too  well  1  see  that  you 
deceived  yourself  or  me — lliat  no  r-.ttachment,  no  devotion  can  pur- 
chase your  forgiveness."  **  Indeed,"  said  Laura,  melted  by  tlie 
pi"oof  which  she  liad  received  of  her  lover*s  aflecllon,  yet  fearful  of 
forfeiting  her  caution,  "  I  am  incapable  of  harbouring  enmity 
against  the  worst  of  human  beings,  and" — 

•*  Knmity  !"  interrupted  Hargrave,  "  Heavens^  what  a  word  >** 
"  I  mean,"  said  Laura,,  faltering,.  "  tliat  1  am  not  insensible  to  the 
regard — " 

*'  Madam,  the  coach  is  at  the  door,"^  said  the  shop-bov,  again 

peeping  slily  into  the  room  ;  and  Laura,  hastily  bidding  ilarg'rave 

a  good  morning,  walked  towards  the    carriage.     Haying  herself 

given  the  coacliniau  his  directions,  she  suifered  Hargrave  to  hand 

L  2 


i:er  in,  5?iving'h!masiifyhtbowintoken  of  dismissal.  iJccontimiecl^-. 
hoNvever,  to  stand  for  some  moments  with  his  foot  upon  the  step^ 
waiting-  for  a  look  of  permission  to  accompany  her  ;  but,  receiving' 
none,  he  sprung-  into  the  seat  by  her  side,  and  called  to  the  man 
to  drive  on.  Laura,  offended  at  his  boldness,  gave  him  a  very  un- 
gracioui»  look,  and  drew  back  in  silence.  "  I  see  you  think  me 
presumptuous,"  said  he,  "  but,  just  found,  how  can  I  consent  to 
kave  you  ?  Oh  Lanra,  if  you  kneW  what  I  have  suffered  from  an 
absence  that  seemed  endless  !  Not  for  worlds  would  I  endure 
such  another." 

"  TJie  stipulated  two  years  are  still  far  from  a  close,"  said  Laura 
coldly  ;  "  and,  till  the}'  are  ended,  our  intercourse  cannot  be  too 
slight." 

"  Surety,"  cried  Hargrave,  "  when  you  fixed  this  lingering  pro- 
bation, you  did  not  mean  to  banish  me  from  your  presence  for  two 
years  !''  Laura  could  not  with  truth  aver  that  such  a  banishment 
had  been  her  intention.  "I  believe,"  said  she,  suppressing  a  sigh, 
*'  that  would  have  been  my  wisest  meaning."  "  I  would  sooner  die," 
cpied  Hargrave  vehemently.  **  Oh,  had  I  sooner  found  you,"  add- 
«d  he,  a  dark  expression  which  Laura  could  not  define  clouding 
fcis  countenance,  "  what  wretchedness  would  have  been  spared  f 
But  now  that  we  have  at  last  met,"  continued  he,  his  eyes  agairv 
sparkling  with  love  and  hope,  *♦  I  will  haunt  you,  cling  to  you,  su]»- 
plicate  you  ;  till  I  melt  you  to  a  passion  as  fervent  as  my  own." 
While  he  spoke  he  dropped  upon  his  knee  by  her  side,  and  threw 
his  arm  passionately  round  her.  Time  had  been,  that  Laura, 
trembling  with  irrepressible  emotion,  would  have  withdrawn  from 
the  embrace,  reproaching  herself  for  sensations  from  which  she 
imagined  that  the  more  spotless  heart  of  her  lover  was  free,  and 
hating"  herself  for  being  unable  to  receive  as  a  sister,  the  caresses 
of  a  fondness  pure  as  a  brother's  love.  But  Hargrave  had  himself 
torn  the  veil  from  her  eyes  ;  and  shrinking  from  him  as  if  a  serpent 
had  crossed  her  path,  she  cast  on  him  a  look  that  struck  like  an  ice- 
bolt  on  the  glowing  heart  of  Hargrave.  *'  Just  Heaven  !"  he  cried, 
starting  up  with  a  convulsive  shudder,  "  this  is  abhorrence  !  Why, 
-why  have  you  deceived  me  with  a  false  show  of  sensibility  ?  Speak 
it  at  once,"  said  he,  wildly  grasping  her  arm  ;  "  say  that  you  def- 
test me,  and  tell  me  too  who  has  dared  to  supplant  me  in  a  heart 
once  wholly  mine." 

'*'  Be  calm,  I  implore  you,"  said  Laura,  terrified  at  his  violence, 
*•  no  one  has  supplanted  you.  I  am,  I  ever  shall  be,  whatever  you 
deserve  to  find  me." 

Laura's  soothing  voice,  her  insinuating  look,  retained  all  their 
wonted  power  to  calm  the  fierce  passions  of  her  lover  "  Oh  I 
shall  never  deserve  you,"  said  he  in  a  tone  of  wretchedness,  while 
his  face  was  again  crossed  by  an  expression  of  anguish,  which  the 
unsuspecting  Laura  attributed  to  remorse  for  his  former  treat- 
ment of  herself 

The  carriage  at  this  moment  stopped,  and  anxious  to  calm  his 
]»pirits  at  parting,  Laura  smikd  kindly  upon  him,  and  said,  "  B^ 


127 

evei  tlins  humble  in  your  opinion  of  your  own  meHts,  cvcv  thus  paf'* 
tial  in  your  estimate  of  mine,  and  then,"  added  she,  the  tears  tiem- 
bUng"  in  her  lovely  eye?,  •*  we  shall  meet  again  in  happier  circum- 
stances." *'  You  must  not,  shall  not  leave  me  thus,"  cried  Har- 
grave  impatiently,  "1  will  not  quit  this  spot,  till  you  have  con- 
sented to  see  nie  again."  "  J3o  not  ask  it,"  replied  Laura.  *' A 
long,  long  time  must  elapse,  much  virtuous  exertion  must  be  un- 
dergone, ere  I.  dare  receive  you  with  other  than  this  coldness, 
which  appears  to  be  so  painful  to  you.  Why  then  sport  with  your 
own  feelings  and  with  mine  ?"  "  Ah  Laura,"  said  Hargrave  in 
a  voice  of  supplication,  *'  use  me  as  you  will,  only  suffer  me  to 
see  you."  Moved  with  the  imploring  tone  of  her  lover,  Laura 
\urned  toward  him  that  she  might  soften  by  her  manner  the  me- 
ditated refusal ;  hut,  in  an  evil  hour  for  her  resolution,  slie  met 
the  fine  eyes  of  Hargrave  sufTued  in  tears,  and  wlioUy  unable  to 
utter  what  she  intended,  she  reniaincd  silent.  Hargrave  was  in- 
stantly sensible  of  his  advantage,  and  willing  to  assist  her  ac- 
quiescence  by  putting  his  request  into  a  less  exceptionable  form, 
he  said,  •'  I  ask  not  even  for  your  notice,  suffer  me  but  to  visit 
your  father."  "My  father  has  been  very  ill,"  returned  Laura, 
who,  unknown  to  herself,  rejoiced  to  find  an  excuse  for  her  con- 
cession, "and  it  may  give  hiin  pleasure  to  see  you  ;  but /can 
claim  no  sliare  in  the  honour  of  your  visit."  Hargrave,  delighted 
with  his  success,  rapturously  thanked  her  for  her  condescension  ; 
and  springing  from  her  carriage,  led  her,  but  half  satisfied  with 
her  own  conduct,  into  the  house. 

She  ushered  him  into  the  parlour,  and  before  he  had  time  to  de- 
toin  her,  glided  away  to  acquaint  her  father  with  his  visit  She 
found  the  captain  wrapt  in  the  same  listless  melancholy  in  which 
she  had  left  him ;  the  book  which  she  had  meant  to  entertain  him, 
used  only  as  a  rest  for  his  arm.  Laura  was  now  beset  with  her 
old  difficidty.  She  had  not  yet  learnt  to  speak  of  Hargrave  with- 
out sensible  confusion  ;  and  to  utter  his  name  while  any  eye  was 
fixed  upon  her  face,  required  an  effort  which  no  common  circum- 
stances could  have  tempted  her  to  make.  She  therefore  took  re- 
fuge behind  her  father's  chair,  before  she  began  her  partial  relation 
of  her  morning's  adventure. 

"  And  is  he  now  in  the  house,"  cried  Montreville,  with  an  ani- 
mation which  he  had  long  laid  aside.  "  I  rejoice  to  hear  it.  Re- 
turn to  him  immediately,  my  love.  I  will  see  him  in  a  few  minutes." 
"  As  soon  as  you  choose  to  receive  him,'*  said  Laura,  "  I  shall 
carry  your  commands.  1  shall  retaain  in  the  dressing-room.'* 
**  For  shame,  Laura !"  returned  Montreville.  "  I  thought  you  had 
been  above  these  silly  airs  of  conquest.  Colonel  Hargrave's  re- 
jected passion  gives  you  no  riglitto  refuse  him  the  politeness  due 
to  all  your  father's  guests."  "  Certainly  not.  Sir,  but" — she  stop- 
ped, hesitating'—"  however,"  added  she,  "  since  you  wish  it,  I 
will  go." 

It  was  not  without  embarrassment  that  Laura  returned  to  her 
lover;  to  offer  him  another  tete-i-iete  seemed  so  like  soliciting  a 


128 

renewal  of  his  ardours.  In  this  idea  she  was  stopping  at  the  par- 
lour door,  collecting-  her  courage,  and  meditating'  a  speecli  deco- 
rously repulsive,  when  Iliirgrave,  who  had  been  listening  for  her 
approach,  impatiently  stejjped  out  to  look  for  her,  and  in  a  moment 
spoiled  all  lier  concerted  oratory,  by  taking  her  hand  and  leading 
her  into  the  room. 

Though  Hargrave  could  at  any  time  take  Laura's  feelings  by 
surprise,  an  instant  was  sufficient  to  restore  her  .self-possession; 
and  withdrawing  her  hand,  she  said,  "  In  a  few  minutes.  Sir,  my 
father  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  at  his  desii*e  I  attend  you  till  he 
can  have  that  honour.'^  "Bless  him  for  the  delay  !*  cried  Har- 
g-rave,  "  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say  to  you."  *'  And  I,  Sir," 
said  Laura,  solemnly,  "  have  one  thing  to  say  to  you,  of  more  im- 
portance to  me,  probably,  than  all  the  thousand." 

Hargrave  bit  his  lip  ;  and  Laura  proceeded,  her  colour,  as  pain- 
ful recollection  rose,  fading  from  the  crimson  that  had  newly 
flushed  it,  to  the  paleness  of  anguish.  '♦  blx  months  ago,"  said 
she,  speaking  with  an  effort  that  rendered  her  words  scarcely  ar- 
ticulate— "  Six  months  ago  you  made  me  a  promise.  Judge  of  my 
anxiety  that  you  should  keep  it,  when  to  secure  its  fulfilment  I  can 
call  up  a  subject  so  revolting — so  dreadful."  She  paused — a  cold 
shudder  running  through  her  limbs  ;  but  Hargruve,  abashed  and 
disconcerted,  gave  her  no  interruption,  and  ventured  not  even  to 
raise  his  eyes  from  the  ground.  *'  My  father,*'  she  continued,  **  is 
no  longer  able  to  avenge  his  child  ;-«the  bare  mention  of  her 
wrongs  would  destroy  him.  If  then  you  value  my  peace — if  you 
dread  my  detestation — let  no  circumstances  seduce,  no  accident 
surprise  from  you  this  hateful  secret." 

While  she  spoke,  the  blushes  which  had  deserted  her  cheek 
were  transferred  to  that  of  Hargrave;  for  though,  to  his  own  con- 
science, he  had  palliated  his  former  outrage  till  it  appeared  a  very 
venial  trespass,  he  was  not  proof  against  the  unaffected  horror  with 
which  it  had  inspired  the  viituous  Laura.  Throwing  himself  at 
her  feet,  and  hiding  his  face  in  her  gown,  he  bitterly,  and  for  the 
Inoment  sincerely,  bewailed  his  offence,  and  vowed  to  devote  his 
life  to  its  expiation.  Then  starting  up,  he  struck  his  hand  wildly 
upon  his  forehead,  and  exclaimed,  "  Madman  that  I  have  been! 
Oh,  Laura,  thy  heavenly  purity  makes  me  the  vei'iest  wretch-  No— 
thou  canst  never  pardon  me  !" 

The  innocent  Laura,  who  little  suspected  all  his  causes  of  self- 
reproach,  wept  tears  of  joy  over  his  repentance,  and,  in  a  voice  full 
of  tenderness,  said,  '*  Indeed  1  have  myself  too  many  faults  to  be 
*mrelenting.  Contrition  and  amendment  are  all  that  Heaven  re- 
quires— why  should  I  ask  more  ?'*  Hargrave  saw  that  she  attri- 
buted nil  his  agitation  to  remorse  fi>r  his  conduct  towards  herself; 
but  the  effects  of  her  mistake  were  too  delightful  to  suffer  him  to 
undeceive  her  ;  and  perceiving  at  once  that  he  had  found  ihc  mas- 
terspring  of  all  her  tenderness,  he  overpowered  her  with  such  vov/s, 
protestations,  and  entreaties,  that,  before  tiieir  conference  was  in- 
terrupted, he  had,  amidst  tremors,  blushes,  aiui  hesitation,  which 


129 

spoke  a  thousand  times  more  than  her  words,  wrung  from  her  a 
confession  that  she  felt  a  more  than  friendly  interest  iii  the  issue  of 
his  probation. 

Indeed,  Montreville  was  in  no  haste  to  break  in  upon  their  dia- 
logfue.  That  any  woman  should  have  refused  the  hand  oftlie  hand- 
some— the  insinuating- — the  gallant  Colonel  Hargrave,  had  always 
appealed  to  him  little  less  than  miraculous.  He  had  been  told, 
that  ladies  sometimes  rejected  what  they  did  not  mean  to  relin- 
quish ;  and  though  he  could  scarcely  believe  his  daughter  capable 
of  such  childish  coquetry,  he  was  not  without  faith  in  a  maxim, 
which,  it  must  be  confessed,  receives  sanction  from  experience, 
namely,  that  in  all  cases  of  feminine  obduracy,  perseverance  is  an 
infallible  recipe.  Tliis  recipe,  he  had  no  doubt,  was  now  to  be 
tried  upon  Laura;  and  he  fei-\'ently  wished  that  it  might  be  with 
success.  Though  he  was  too  aHtctionate  a  father  to  form  on  this 
subject  a  wish  at  variance  with  his  daug-hter's  happiness,  he  had 
never  been  insensible  to  the  desire  of  seeing  her  brow  graced  by  a 
coronet.  But  now  more  important  considerations  made  him  truly 
anxious  tfxconsign  her  to  the  guardianship  of  a  man  of  honour. 

The  unfortunate  ti-ansaction  of  the  annuity  would,  in  the  event  of 
his  death,  leave  her  utterly  destitute.  That  event,  he  imagined, 
was  fast  approaching;  and  with  many  a  bitter  pang  he  remembered 
that  he  had  neither  friend  nor  relative  with  whom  he  could  entrust 
his  orphan  child.  His  parents  had  long  been  dead ;  his  only  sur- 
viving brother,  a  fox-hunting  squire  of  small  fortune,  shared  his 
table  and  bed  with  a  person  who  had  stooped  to  these  degrading 
honotirs  from  the  more  reputable  situation  of  an  innocent  dairy- 
maid. With  Lady  Harriet*s  relations  (for  friends  she  had  none,) 
Montreville  had  never  maintained  any  intercourse.  They  had  af- 
fected to  resent  his  intrusion  into  the  family,  and  he  had  not  been 
industrious  to  conciliate  their  favour.  Except  himself,  therefore, 
Laura  had  no  natural  protector  ;  and  this  circumstance  made  him 
tenfold  more  anxious  that  she  should recal her  decision  in  regaid 
%Q  Hargrave. 

He  had  no  doubt  that  tlie  present  visit  was  intended  for  Laura ; 
and  he  suffered  as  long  a  time  to  elapse  before  he  claimed  any 
share  in  it,  as  common  politeness  w^ould  allow.  He  had  meant  to 
receive  the  colonel  in  his  own  apartment,  but  an  inclination  to  ob- 
serve the  conduct  of  the  lovers,  induced  him  to  make  an  effort  to 
join  them  in  the  parlour,  where  he  with  pleasure  discovered  by  the 
countenances  of  both,  that  their  conversation  had  been  mutually 
interesting.  Hargrave  instantly  recovered  himself,  and  paid  his 
compliments  with  his  accustomed  gr.ice  ;  but  Laura,  by  no  means 
prepared  to  stand  inspection,  disappeared  the  moment  her  father 
entered  the  room. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  the  gentlemen  had  met,  since  the 
day  when  Montreville  had  granted  his  fruitless  sanction  to  the 
colonel's  suit.  Delicacy  prevented  the  father  from  touching  upon 
the  subject,  and  it  was  equally  avoided  by  Hargrave,  who  had  not 
yt;t  determined  in  wh  .t  light  to  represent  his  repulse.  *  However, 


130 

as  jt  eompletcly  occupied  the  mi  ds  of  both,  the  conversation, 
which  turned  on  topics  merely  indiiTerent,  was  carried  on  with  lit- 
tle spirit  on  either  side,  and  was  soon  closed  by  HargraVe's  taking' 
leave,  after  begging  permission  to  repeat  his  visit. 

Colonel  Margrave  had  promised  to  spend  that  evening  with  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  London  ;  but  the  imexpected  rencoun- 
ter of  the  morning,  left  him  in  no  humour  to  fulfil  his  engagement. 
He  had  found  his  I, aura, —his  lovely,  his  innocent  Laura,— the  ob- 
ject of  his  only  serious  passion, — the  only  woman  w  hose  empire 
reached  beyond  his  senses.  He  had  found  her  cautious,  reserved, 
severe  :  yet  feeling,  constant,  and  tender.  He  remembered  the 
overwhelming  joy  which  made  her  sink  fainting  on  his  bosom; 
called  to  mind  her  ill-suppressed  tears  —her  smothered  sighs — her 
unbidden  bluslies  ;  and  a  thousand  times  assured  himself  that  he 
was  passionately  beloved.  He  triumphed  the  more  in  the  proofs 
of  her  affection,  because  they  were  not  only  involuntary  but  re- 
luctant  ;  and,  seen  through  the  flattering  medium  of  gratified 
pride,  her  charms  appeared  more  than  ever  enchanting.  On  these 
charms  he  Ivad  formerly  suffered  his  imagination  to  dwell,  till  to 
appropriate  them  seemed  to  him  almost  the  chief  end  of  existence ; 
and,  though  in  absence  his  frenzy  had  a  little  intermitted,  his  in- 
terview with  Laura  roused  it  again  to  double  violence. 

l^o  passion  of  Hargrave's  soul  (and  all  his  passions  were  of  in- 
tense force,)  had  ever  known  resU-aint,  or  control,  or  even  delay 
of  gratification,  excepting  only  this,  the  strongest  tliat  had  ever 
governed  him.  And  must  he  now  pine  for  eighteen  lingering 
months,  ere  he  attained  the  object  of  such  ardent  wishes  ?  Must 
he  submit,  for  a  time  that  seemed  endless,  to  the  tyranny  of  this 
intolerable  passion, — see  the  woman  on  whom  he  doated  receive 
his  protestations  with  distiust,  and,  spite  of  her  affections,  shrink 
f-om  l\is  caresses  with  horror  ?  No  ! — he  vowed  that  if  there  were 
persuasion  in  man,  or  frailty  in  v/oman,  he  would  shorten  the  pe- 
riod of  his  trial, — that  he  would  employ  for  this  purpose  all  the 
power  which  he  possessed  over  Laura's  heart,  and,  if  that  failcl, 
that  he  would  even  have  recourse  to  the  authority  of  the  fa- 
ther. 

But  he  liad  yet  a  stronger  motive  than  the  impetuosity  of  his 
passions  for  striving  to  obtain  immediate  possession  of  his  trea- 
sure- He  was  conscious  that  there  was  a  tale  to  tell,  which,  once 
known,  (and  it  could  not  long  be  concealetl,)  would  sh^e  his 
hopes  to  the  foundation.  But  on  this  subject  he  could  not  now 
dwell  without  disgust,  and  he  turned  from  it  to  the  more  inviting 
contemplation  of  Laura's  beauty  and  Laura's  love  ;  and  willi  his 
head  andhis  heart,  every  nerve,  every  pulse  full  of  Laura,  he  re- 
tired to  pursue  in  his  dreams,  the  fair  visions  that  had  occupied 
his  wiiking  thoughts. 

Wliile  he^-was  thus  wilfully  surrendering  himself  to  the  domi- 
nion of  his  frenzy,  Laura,  the  self-denied  Laura,  was  endeavour- 
ing-, though  it  must  be  owned  without  distinguished  success,  to 


131 

silence  the  pleadings  of  a  heart  as  warm,  though  better  regulated^ 
by  attending  to  the  humble  duties  of  the  hour. 

When  she  quitted  Hargrave,  she  had  retired  to  offer  up  her 
fervent  thanks  to  lleaven,'that  he  was  become  sensible  of  the 
enormity  of  his  former  conduct.  Earnestly  did  she  pray,  that, 
though  earth  should  never  witness  their  union,  they  might  be  per- 
mitted together  to  join  a  nobler  society — animated  by  yet  purer 
loves — bound  by  yet  holier  ties.  She  next  reconsidered  her  own 
behaviour  towards  Hargrave  ;  and,  though  vexed  at  the  momen- 
tary desertion  of  her  self-command,  saw,  upon  the  whole,  little 
cause  to  reproach  herself,  since  lier  weakness  liad  been  merely 
thut  of  tlie  body,  to  which  the  will  gave  no  consent.  She  resolved 
to  be  guardedly  cautious  in  her  future  demeanour  towards  him  ; 
and  since  the  issue  of  his  probation  was  doubtful,  since  its  close 
was  at  all  events  distant,  to  forfeit  the  enjoyment  of  her  lover's 
society,  ratiier  than,  by  remaining  in  the  room  during  his  visits, 
appear  to  consider  them  as  meant  for  herself. 

As  soon  as  Hargrave  was  gone,  Montreville  returned  to  his 
chamber  ;  and  there  Laura  ordered  his  small  but  delicate  repast 
to  be  served,  excusing  herself  from  partaking  of  it,  by  saying 
that  she  could  dine  more  conveniently  in  tlie  parlour.  Having  in 
the  morning  bestowed  on  the  beggar  the  meager  fare  that  should 
have  supplied  her  own  wants,  she  employed  the  time  of  her  fa- 
ther's meal,  in  the  labour  which  was  to  purchase  him  another; 
pondering"  meanwhile  on  the  probability  that  he  would  again  enter 
on  the  discussion  of  Hargrave's  pretensions.  To  this  subject  she 
felt  unconquerable  repugnance  ;  and  though  she  knew  that  it  must 
at  last  be  canvassed,  and  that  she  must  at  last  assign  a  reason  for 
Iier  conduct,  she  woukl  fain  have  put  oiF  the  evil  hour. 

She  dehi}  ed  her  evening  visit  to  her  father,  till  he  grew  impa- 
tient for  it,  and  sent  for  her  to  his  apartment.  The  moment  she 
entered  the  room,  he  began,  as  she  had  anticipated,  to  inquire 
into  the  particulars  of  her  interview  with  Hargrave.  Hie  lan- 
guage of  Laura's  reply  was  not  very  perspicuous  ;  the  manner  of 
it  was  more  intelligible  :  and  Montreville  instantly  comprehended 
the  nature  of  her  conference  with  Ihe  Colonel.  "  He  has  then 
given  you  an  opportunity  of  repairing  your  former  rashness,'* 
said  Montreville,  with  eagerness, — "  and  your  answer  ?"  "  Colo- 
nel Hargrave  had  his  answer  long  ago.  Sir,"  replied  Laura,  trem- 
bling at  this  exordium.  Montreville  sighed  heavily,  and,  fixing 
his  eyes  mournfully  upon  her,  remained  silent.  At  last,  affection- 
ately taking  her  harid,  he  said,  '*  My  de.ir  child,  the  time  has 
been,  when  even  your  caprices  on  this  subject  were  sacred  with 
your  father.  While  I  had  a  shelter,  however  humble — an  inde. 
pendence,  however  small,  to  offer  you,  your  bare  inclination  de- 
termined mine.  But  now  your  situation  is  changed — fatally  chang- 
ed ;  and  no  trivial  reasons  would  excuse  me  for  permitting  your 
rejection  of  an  alliance  so  unexceptionable,  so  splendid.  Tell 
me,  then,  explicitly,  what  are  your  objection  to  Colonel  Hair* 
grave  J" 


13j2 

Xauru  remained  silent,  for  she  knew  not  how  to  frame  her  rep!} .  ,1 
'*''Isit  possible  that  he  can  be   personally  diMigreeiible  to  you  f**  I 
continued  Montreville.  "Disagreeable  ?"  exclaimed  Laura,  thrown 
off  her  guard  by  astonishment.     "Colonel  Hargrave  is  one  whom 

any  woman  miglit — whom  no  woman  could  know  without '* 

"  Without  what  ?"  said  Montreville,  with  a  delighted  smile.  But 
Laura,  shocked  at  the  extent  of  her  own  admission,  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  almost  in  tears,  made  no  reply.  4 

*'  Well,  my  love,"  said  Montreville,  more  cheerfully  than  he^ 
had  spoken  for  many  a  day,  **  I  can  interpret  all  this,  and  will  not 
persecute  you.  But  you  must  still  suffer  me  to  ask  what  strange 
reasons  could  induce  you  to  reject  wealth  and  title,  offered  bv  a 
man  not  sibso\\ite\y  disagreeable  ?'*  Laura  strove  to  collect  herself, 
and  deep  crimson  dyeing  Iier  beautiful  face  and  neck,  she  said, 
without  venturing  to  lift  her  eyes,  "  You  yourself  have  told  me. 
Sir,  that  Colonel  Hargrave  is  a  man  of  gallantry,  and,  believe  me, 
\\ith  such  a  man  I  should  be  most  miserable.'^ 

"  Come,  come,  Laura,"  said  Montreville,  putting  his  arm  round 
her,  "  confess,  that  some  little  fit  of  jealousy  made  you  answer 
Hargrave  unkindly  at  first,  and  that  now  a  little  female  pride,  or 
tlie  obstinacy  of  which  we  useil  to  accuse  you  fifteen  years  ago, 
makes  you  unwilling  to  retract." 

"  No',  indeed,"  returned  Laura,  with  emotion  "  Colonel  Har- 
grave has  never  given  me  cause  to  be  jealous  of  his  affection.  But 
jealousy  would  feebly  express  the  anguish  with  which  his  wife 
would  behold  his  vices,  degrading  him  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and 
making  him  vile  in  the  sight  of  Heaven." 

**  My  love,"  said  Montreville,  "yoursimplicityandignoran.ee 
of  the  world  make  you  attach  far  too  great  importance  to  Har- 
grave's  little  irregularities.  I  am  persuaded  that  a  wife  whom  he 
loved  would  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  them." 

"  She  would  at  least  have  no  ri^-ht  to  complain,"  returned 
Laura,  **  if,  knowing  them,  she  chose  t©  make  the  hazardous  ex- 
periment." 

"  But  I  am  certain,"  said  Montreville,  "that  a  passion  such  as 
he  evidently  feels  for  you,  would  ensure  his  perfect  reformation  ; 
and  that  a  heart  so  warm  as  Hargrave's,  would  readily  acknow- 
ledge all  the  claims  upon  a  husband's  and  a  father's  lt)ve." 

Laura  held  down  her  head,  and,  for  a  moment,  surrendered 
her  fancy  to  prospects,  rainbow-like,  bright  but  unreal.  Spite  of 
the  dictates  of  sober  sense,  the  vision  was  cheering;  and  a  smile 
dimpled  her  cheek  while  she  said,  "  But  since  this  reformation 
is  go  easy  and  so  certain,  would  it  be  a  grievous  delay  to  wait  for 
its  appearance."   . 

"  Ah  Laura !"  Montreville  began, "  this  is  no  time  for" — "  Nay, 
now,"  interrupted  Laura,  sportively  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
mouth,  "  positively  I  will  be  no  more  lectured  to-night.  Besides  I 
have  got  a  new  book  for  you  from  the  library,  -and  the  people  in- 
sisted upon  having  it  returned  to-morrow."  "  You  are  a  spoiled 
girl,"  sftid  Montreville,  fondly  caressing  her,  and  he  dropped  Uie 


13S 

subject  with  the  less  reluctance,  because  lie  believed  tl.ui  i,,s 
wishes,  aided,  as  he  perceived  they  were,  by  an  advocate  in  Laura's 
own  breast,  were  in  a  fair  train  for  accomplishment^  He  little 
knew  how  feeble  was  the  influence  of  inclination  over  the  decisions 
of  her  self-controlling  spirit. 

To  prevent  him  from  returning  to  the  topic  he  had  quitted,  she 
read  aloud  to  him  till  his  hour  of  rest ;  and  then  retired  to  her 
chamber  to  labour  as  formerly,  till  the  morning  was  far  advanced. 


CHAVTER  XVIJ 

Laura  had  it  now  in  her  power  to  discharge  he-  debt  to  the 
surgeOiT,  and  she  was  resolved  that  it  should  immediately  be  paid. 
When,  therefore,  he  called  in  the  morning  to  make  his  daily  visit, 
she  met  him  before  he  entered  Montreville's  chamber,  andreqcest- 
L(l  to  speak  with  him  in  the  parlour. 

She  began  by  saying,  she  feared  that  medicine  could  be  of  little 
use  to  her  father,  to  which  Dr.  Flint  readily  assented,  declaring, 
in  his  dry  way,  that  generous  food  and  open  air  would  benefit  him 
more  than  all  the  drugs  in  London.  Laura  begged  him  to  say  eXr 
Illicitly  so  to  the  Captairj,  and  to  give  that  as  a  reason  for  declining 
to  make  him  any  more  professional  visits.  She  then  presented  him 
with  a  paper  (Containing  four  guineas,  which  she  thought  might  be 
the  amount  of  his  claim.  He  took  the  paper,  and  deliberately  Un- 
folding it,  returned  one  half  of  its  contents  ;  saying;  that  his  ac- 
count had  been  settled  so  lately,  that  the  new  one  could  not  amount 
to  more  than  the  sum  he  retained.  Laura,  who  having  now  no  fu- 
vour  to  beg,  no  debt  that  she  was  un:ible  to  pay,  m  as  no  longer 
ashamed  of  her  poverty,  easily  opened  to  Dr.  Flint  so  much  of  her 
-situation  as  was  necessary  to  instruct  him  in  the  part  he  had  to  act 
witli  -Vlontrcville.  He  made  no  offer  to  continue  his  visits,  even  as 
an  acquaintance,  but  readily  undertook  all  that  Laura  required  of 
him,  adding,  **  Indeed,  Miss  Montreville,  I  siiould  have  told  }oui- 
father  long  ago  that  physic  was  useless  to  him,  but  whimsical 
people  must  have  something  to  a^nuse  them,  andif  Ite  had  not  paid 
for  my  pills,  he  would  for  some  other  man's.**"  lie  then  went  to 
Montreville,  and  finding  him  in  better  spirits  then  he  had  lately 
enjoyed,  actually  succeeded  in  persuading  him,  for  that  day  at  least, 
tiiat  no  new  prescription  was  necessary,  and  that  he  could  continue 
to  use  the  old  one  without  the  insjiection  of  a  surgeon. 

Laura's  mind  was  much  relieved  by  her  having  settled  tliis  aflTuir 
to  her  wish  ;  and  when  the  Doctor  was  gone,  she  sat  down  cheer- 
fully to  her  drawing.  Her  meeting  with  Uurgrave  had  lightened 
her  heart  of  a  load  which  had  long  wciglied  upon  it  more  heavily 
than  she  was  willing  to  allow  ;  and,  spite  of  poverty,  she  was  cheer- 
ful.    *'  I  have  now  only  liiinger  and  toil  to  endure,"  thought  she, 

Vol.  I.  M 


134 

smiling  as  gaily  is  if  hunger  and  toil  had  been  trifles  ;  "  but  light 
V  ill  be  my  labours,  for  by  them  I  can  in  part  pay  back  my  debt  of 
life  to  my  dear  kind  father.  I  am  no  more  forlorn  and  deserted, 
for  he  is  come  who  is  sunshine  to  Laura's  soul.  The  cloud  that 
darkened  him  has  passed  away,  and  he  will  brighten  all  my  after- 
life Oh  fondly  beloved !  with  thee  I  would  have  been  content  to 
tread  tlie  humblest  path  ;  but,  if  we  must  climb  the  steeps,  together- 
we  will  court  the  breeze,  togetlier  meet  the  storm.  No  time  shall 
change  the  love  I  bear  thee.  Thy  step,  when  feeble  with  age,  shall 
still  be  music  to  Laura's  ear.  When  the  lustre  of  the  melting  eye 
is  quenched,  when  the  auburn  ringlet  fades  to  silver,  dearer  shalt 
thou  be  to  me  than  in  all  the  pride  of  manly  beauty.  And  when  at 
last  the  dust  shall  cover  us,  one  tree  shall  shelter  our  narrow  beds, 
and  tlie  wind  that  fans  t|ie. flowers  upon  thy  ^'ave,  shall  scatter 
their  fallen  leaves  upon  mine." 

Casting  these  thoughts  into  the  wild  extempore  measures  which 
are  familiar  to  tl\e  labourers  of  her  native  mountains,*  Laura  was 
singing  them  to  one  of  the  affecting  melodies  of  her  country,  her 
sweet  voice  made  more  sweet  by  the  magic  of  real  tenderness, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Hargrave  himself  entered. 

He  came,  resolved  to  exert  all  his  influence,  to  urge  every  plea 
which  the  affection  of  Laura  would  allow  him,  in  order  to  extort 
hel*  consent  to  their  immediate  union  ;  and  he  was  too  well  con- 
vinced of  his  power  to  be  very  diffident  of  success.  Laura  ceased 
her  song  in  as  much  confusion  as  if  her  visitor  had  understood  the 
language  in  which  it  was  composed  ;  or  covddhave  known  himself 
to  be  the  subject  of  it.  He  had  been  listening  to  its  cldse,  and  now 
urged  her  to  continue  it,  but  was  imable  to  prevail.  He  knew  that 
.she  was  particularly  sensible  to  the  charms  of  music.  He  had  of- 
ten witnessed  the  effect  of  her  own  pathetic  voice  upon  her  feel- 
ii\^s  ;  and  he  judged  that  no  introduction  could  be  more  proper  to 
a  conference  in  which  he  intended  to  work  upon  her  sensibility. — 
He  therefore  begged  her  to  sing  a  little  plaintive  air  with  which 
she  had  often  di-awn  tears  from  his  eyes.  But  Laura  knew  that, 
as  her  father  was  still  in  bed,  she  could  not  without  rudeness  avoid 
a  long  tfetc-a-tete  with  Hargrave,  and  therefore  she  did  not  choose 
to  put  htt  composure  to  any  unnecessary  test.  She  excused  herself 
from  complying  with  his  request,  but  glad  to  find  any  indiHereiTt 
way  of  passing  the  time,  slie  offered  to  sing,  if  he  would  allow  her 
to  choose  lier  own^ong,  and  then  began  a  lively  air,  which  she  exv 
ecuted  with  all  tlie  vivacity  that  she  could  command.  The  style 
of  it  WKS  quite  at  variance  with  Hargrave's  present  humour  and 
design.  He  heard  it  with  impatience  ;  and  scarcely  thanking  her, 
said,  "  Vou  spirits^  are  high  this  morning,  Miss  Montreville." 

*'  They  are,  indee<i,"  replied  Laura,  gaily,  "  1  hope  you  have  no 
intention  to  make  them  otherwise.'* 

"  Certainly  not ;  though  they  are  little  in  unison  with  my  own. 
The  meditations  of  a  restless,  miserable  night,  have  brought  me 
to  you." 

*  See  JamiesorCs  Popular  jBallads,  vol.  u.p.458. 


135 

"  Is  it  the  usual  efTcct  of  a  restless  night  to  bring  you  abroad  sw 
early  the  next  morning-  ?  *  said  Laura,  anxious  to  avoid  a  trial  ot 
strength  in  a  sentimental  conference. 

"  I  will  be  heard  seriously,"  said  Hargrave,  colouring  witli  anger, 
*'  and  seriously  too  I  must  be  answered." 

*'  Nay,"  said  Laura,  **  If  you  look  so  tremendous  I  shall  retreat 
without  hearing  you  at  all."      ' 

Hargrave,  who  instantly  saw  that  he  had  not  chosen  the  right 
road  to  victory,  checked  his  rising  choler— "  Laura,"  said  he,  *'  you 
have  3'ourself  made  me  the  victim  of  a  passion  ungovernable — irre- 
sistible; and  it  is  cruel — it  is  ungenerous  in  you  to  spoil  with  my 
uneasiness."  . 

**  Do  not  give  the  poor  passion  such  hard  names,**  said  Laurri, 
smiling.    "  Perhaps  you  have  never  tried  to  resist  or  govern  it," 

'  "  As  soon  might  I  govern  the  wind,"  cried  Margrave,  vehement- 
ly—." as  soon  resist  the  fires  of  Heaven.  And  Vv  by  attemi)t  to  go- 
vern It?**  ' 

*'  Because,"  answered  Laura,  "  it  is  weak,  it  is  sinful,  to  submit 
unresisling  to  the  bondage  of  an  imperious  passion." 

"  Would  that  you  too  would  submit  unresisting  to  its  bondage-!" 
said  Hargxave,  delighted  to  have  made. her  once  more  serious. — 
"But  if  this  passion  is  sinful,"  continued  he,  "my  reformation 
rests  with  you  alone.  Put  a  period  to  my  lingering  trial.  Consent 
to  be  mine,  and.hush  all  these  tumults  to  rest.'* 

"Take  carfe  how  you  furnish  me  with  arguments  against  your- 
self," returned  Laura,  laughing.  "  Would  it  be  my  interest,  think 
you,  to  lull  all  these  transports  to  such  profound  repose  ?" 

"  Be  serious  Laura,  I  implore  you.  Well  do  you  know  that  my 
love  can  end  only  with  my  existende,  but  I  should  no  longer  be  dis- 
tracted with  these  tumultuous  hopes  and  fears  if" — "  Oh,"  cried 
Laura,  interrupting'him,  "  hope  is  too  pleasing  a  companion  for 
you  to  wish  to  part  with  that ;  and,"  added  she,  a  smile  and  a  blusli 
contending  upon  her  cheek,  "I  begin  to  believe  that  your  fears  are 
not  very  troublesome."  "  Ah  Laura,'*  said  Hargrave  sorrowfully, 
"  you  know  not  what  you  say.  There  are  moments  when  I  feel  as 
if  you  were  already  lost  to  me — and  the  bare  thought 'is  distraction. 
Oh  if  you  have  pity  for  real  sufFering,**  continued  he,  dropping  on 
his  knees,  "save  me  from  the  dread  of  losing  you  ;  forget  the  hour 
of  madness  in  which  I  offended  you.  Restore  to  me  the  time  when 
you  owned  that  I  was  dear  to  you.  Be  yet  more  generous,  and 
give  me  immediate,  unalienable  right  to  your  love." 

"  You  forget,  Colonel  Hargrave,"  said  Laura,  again  taking  sanc- 
tuary in  an  appearance  of  col^ffess  ;  "  you  forget  that  six  months 
ago  I  fixed  two  years  of  rectitude  as  the  test  of  your  repentance, 
and  that  you  were  then  satisfied  with  my  decision'.** 

"  I  would  then  have  blessed  you  for  any  sentence  that  left  me  a 
hope,  however  distant ;  but  now  the  time  when  I  may  claim  your 
promise  seems  at  such  a  ]iopelcs.s  distance — Oh  Laura,  let  me  but 
prevail  with  you  ;  and  I  will  b'ind  myself  by  the  most  solemn  oaths 
to  a  life  of  imsullied  purity." 


136 

"No  oaths,"  replied  Laiirawith  solemnity,  "can  streng-then  the 
ties  .that  already  bind  you  to  a  life  of  purity.  That  you  are  of  noble 
rank,  calls  you  to  be  an  example  to  others  ;  and  the  yet  higher  dis- 
tinction of  an  immortal  spirit  bids  you  strive  after  virtues  that  may 
never  meet  the  eye  of  man.  Only  convince  me  that  such  are  tlie 
objects  of  your  ambition,  and  I  shall  no  longer  fear  to  trust  with 
you  my  improvement  and  my  happiness." 

As  she  spoke  unusual  animation  sparkled  in  heneyes,  and  tinged 
her  delicate  cheek  with  brighter  colouring.  "Lovely,  lovely  creu- 
ture!'  cried  Hargrave,  in  transport,  "give  but  thyself  to  these 
fond  arms,  and  may  Heaven  forsake  me  if  I  strive  not  to  make  thee 
blest  be}  ond  tlie  sweetest  dreams  of  youthful  fancy." 

"Alas  !"  said  Laura,  "  even  your  affection  would  fail  to  bless  a 
heart  conscious  of  acting  wrong" 

"Where  is  the  y.  rong,"  said  Hargrave,  gathering  hope  from  the 
relenjting  tenderness  of  her  voice,  "  Where  is  the  wrong  of  ^eld- 
inj^  to  the  strongest  inipulse  of  nature — or,  to  speak  in  language 
more  like  your  own,  where  is  the  guilt  of  submitting  to  an  ordi- 
nance of  Hea^  en's  own  apppintm.ent  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  Laura,' "  will  you  force  me  to  say  what  seems 
«nkind  ?  Why  compel  me  to  remind  you  that  marriage  was  never 
meant  to  sanction  the  unholy  connexion  of  those  whose  principles 
^re  discordiint  ?" 

"  Beloved  of  my  heart,"  said  Hargrave,  passionately  kissing  her 
hand,  "  take  me  to  thyself,  and  mould  me  as  thou  wilt.  I  swe^r 
to  thee  that  not  even  thine  own  life  shall  be  more  pure,  itiore  inno- 
.cent  than  mine.  Blest  in  thy  love,  what  meaner  pleasure  could  al- 
hire  me.  Oh  yield  then,  and  bind  me  for  ever  to  virtue  and  to  thee." 

Laura  sliook  her  head.  "  Ah,  Hargrave,"  said  she,  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  "  before  you  can  love  and  practice  the  purity  which 
reaches  the  heart,  far  other  loves  must  warm,  far  other  motives 
inspire  you." 

"  No  Other  love  can  ever  have  such  power  over  me,"  said  Har- 
gfrivc,  with  energy.  "  Be  but  thou  and  thy  matchless  beauty  the 
prize,  J^nd  every  difficulty  is  light,  every  sacrifice  trivial." 

"  In  little  more  than  a  year,"  said  Laura,  "  I  shall  perhaps  ask 
some  proofs  of  the  influence  you  ascribe  to  me;  but  till  then" — 

"Long,  long  before  that  time,"  cried  Hargrave,  striking  his 
forehead  in  agony,  "you  will  be  lost  to  me  forever,"  and  he  paced 
the  room  in  seeming  despair.  Laura  looked  at  him  with  a  pity 
not  unmixed  with  surprise.  "  Hear' me  for  a  moment,"  said  she, 
with  the  soothing-  voice  und  gentle  aspect,  which  had  ;;lways  tlie 
jna;stcry  6f  kargrave's  f-tlings,  alikd,  he  was  instantly  at  her  side, 
listening  with  ieugerneis  to  every  tone  that  she  uttered,  intent  on 
every  variation  of  her  countenance. 

"  Tliere  are  cirpunislances,"  she  continued,  her  transparent 
check  glowing  with  brighter  beauty,,  tears  in  her  downcast  eyes 
trembling  through  tlie*^  silken  lashes — "  There  are  circumstances 
ihut  Oiay  change  rue,  but' time  and  absence  are  not  of  tiie  uuniber. 
Be  but  true  to  yourself,  aad  )  ou  have  nothing  to  fe^.     After  tjiia 


137 

assurance,  I  trust  it  will  give  you  little  pain  to  hear  that,  t/U  the 
stipulated  two  years  are  ended,  if  we  are  to  meet,  it  must  not  be 
without  witnesses." 

**  Good  Heavens  !  Laura,  why  this  new,  this  intolerable  restric- 
tion — ^^'hat  can  induce  you  thus  wilfully  to  torment  me  ?" 

"  Because,"  answered  tlie  blushing  Laura,  with  all  her  natural 
simplicity;  **  because  I  mig-ht  not  always  be  able  to  listen  to  reason 
and  duty  rather  than  to  you." 

"  Oh  that  I  could  fill  thee  with  a  love  that  should  for  ever  si- 
lence the  cold  voice  of  reason  !"  cried  Hargrave,  transported  by 
her  confession  ;  and,  no  longer  roaster  of  himself,  he  would  have 
clasped  her  in  his  arms.  But  Laura,  to  whose  mind  his  caresses 
ever  recalled  a  dark  page  in  her  story,  recoiled  as  from  pollution, 
the  glow  of  ingenuous  modesty  giving  place  to  the  paleness  of 
horror. 

No  words,  envenomed  with  the  bitterest  malice,  could  have 
stung  Hargrave  to  sucli  frenzy  as  the  look  and  the  shudder  with 
which  Laura  drew  back  from  his  embrace.  His  eyes  flashing  fire, 
his  pale  lips  quivering  with  passion,  he  reproached  her  with  per- 
fidy and  deceit ;"  accused  her  of  veilings  her  real  aversion  under  the 
mask  of  prudence  and  principle;  and  execrated  his  own  folly  in 
submitting  so  long  to  be  the  sport  of  a  cold-hearted,  tyrannical, 
obdurate  woman,.  Laura  stood  for  some  minutes  gazing  on  him 
with  calm  compassion.  But  displeased  at  his  groundless  accusa- 
tions, she  disd^ed  to  sooth  his  rage.  At  last,  wearied  of  lan- 
guage wliich,  for  the  present,  expressed  much  more  of  hatred 
than  of  love,  she  quietly  moved  towards  the  door.  *'  I  see  you  can 
be  very  calm.  Madam,"  said  Hargrave,  stopping  her,  "  and  I  can 
be  as  calm  as  yourself,"  added  he,  with  a  smile  like  a  moon  beam 
on  a  thundercloud,  making  the  gloom  more  fearful. 

"  I  hope  you  soon  will  be  so,"  replied  Laura  coldly.  "  I  am  so 
now,*'  said  Hargrave,  his  voice  half-choakcd  with  the  effort  to  sup- 
press his  passion.  **  I  will  but  stay  to  take  leave  of  your  father, 
and  then  free  you  for  ever  from  one  so  odious  to  you." 

"  That  must  be  as  you  please.  Sir,"  said  Laura,  with  spirit ;  but, 
for  the  present,  I  must  be  excused  from  attending  you."  She  then 
retired  to  her  own  chamber,  which  immediately  adjoined  to  the 
painting-room ;  and  with  tears  reflected  on  the  faint  prospect  of 
happiness  that  remained  for  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  passions  were 
so  ungovernable.  Even  the  ardour  of  his  love,  for  which  vanity 
would  have  found  ready  excuse  in  many  a  female  breast,  was  to 
I>aura  a  subject  of  unfeigned  regret,  as  excluding  him  from  the 
dominion  of  better  motives,  and  the  pursuit  of  nobler  ends. 

Hargrave  was  no  sooner  left  to  himself  than  his  fury  began  to 
evaporate.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  perfectly  collected,  and  tlie 
first  act  of  his  returning  reason  was  to  upbraid  him  with  his  treat- 
ment of  Laura.  "  Is  it  to  be  wondered  that  she  shrinks  from  me,** 
said  he,  the  tears  of  self-rep.  oach  rising  to.  his  eyes,  "  when  I 
make  her  the  sport  of  all  my  iranilc  passions  '  But  she  shall  never 
again  have  cause  to  compUm  of  me— let  b«t  hjei*  love  this  once  cx- 


138 

case  n)c,  aiwl  htncciuvtb  I  will  treat  her  \\'iih  gentleness  like  iiep 
own." 

There  is  no  time  in  the  life  of  man  so  tedious,  as  that  which 
passes  bctvA'cen  tiie  resolution  to  repair  a  wrong-,  and  the  opportu- 
nity to  make  the  reparatic^n.  Harg-rave  wondered  whether  Laura 
would  return  to  conduct  him  to  her  father  ;  feared  that  she  would 
Jiot — hoped  that  she  would — thouglst  he  heard  her  footstep — listened 
—  sighed — and  triedto  beguile  the  time  by  turning  overher  drawings. 

Almost  the  first  that  met  his  eye,  was  a  sketch  of  features  well 
known  to  him.  He  started  and  turned  pale.  He  sought  for  a  name 
upon  the  reverse;  there  was  none,  and  he  again  breathed  more 
freely,  "This  must  be  acciden.t,"  said  he  ;  "  Ue  .Courcy  is  far 
from  London — yet  it  is  very  like  ;"  ^nd  he  longed  more  than  ever 
for  Laura's  appearance.  lie  sought  refuge  from  his  impatience  in 
a  book  which  lay  upon  the  table.  It  was  the  Pleasures  of  Hope, 
and  ;marked  in  inany  parts  of  the  margin  with  a  pencil.  One  of  th^ 
passages  so  marked  was  that  which  begins, 

"  I'hy  pencil  ti-aces  on  the  lover's  thougjit  « 

"  Some  cottage  home,  from  to^ns  and  toil  remote, 

^  WJiere  love  aJ»d  lore  may  claim  alternate  hours,"  &c. 

And  Hargrave  surrendered  himself  to  the  pleasing  dream  tliat 
Laura'had  thought  of  him  while  she  approved  the  lines.  "  Her 
name,  written  by  her  own  snowy  fingers,  may  be  here,"  said  he, 
and  he  turned  to  the  title-page,  that  he  migljt  press  it  with  a  lover's 
folly  to  his  lips. — The  title-page  was  inscribed  with  the  name  of 
Montague  De  Courcy. 

The  glancs  of  the  basilisk  was  not  more  powerful.  Motionless 
lie  gazed  on  the  words,  till  all  the  fiends  of  jealousy  taking  posses- 
sion of  his  soul,  he  furiously  dashed  the  book  upon  .the  ground. 
*•  False,  false  syren,"  he.  cried,  *♦  is  this  the  cause  of  all  your 
coldness— your  loathing  ?'*  And  without  any  wish  but  to  exclude 
her  for  ever  from  his  sight,  he  rushed  like  a  mladraan  out  of  the 
house. 

He  darted  forward,  regardless  of  the  snow  that  was  falling  on 
his  uncovered  head,  till  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  would 
not  suffer  her  to  triumph  in  the  belief  of  having  deceived  him. 
"  No,"  cried  he,  "  I  will  once  more  see  that  deceitful  face ;  re- 
proach her  with  her  treachery ;  enjoy  her  confusion,  and  then  spurn 
her  from  me  for  ever." 

He  returned  precipitately  to  the  house ;  and,  flying  up  stairs, 
saw  Laura,  the  traces  of  melancholy  reflection  on  her  countenance, 
waiting  for  admission  at  her  fatlier's  door.  "  Madam,"  said  he, 
in  a  voice  scarcely  articulate,  **  I  must  speak  to  you  for  a  few 
minutes.'*  "  Not  for  a  moment.  Sir,"  said  Laura,  laying  her  hand 
upon  the  lock.  "  Yes,  by  Heaven,  you  shall  hear  me,"  cried  Har- 
grave ;  and  rudely  seizing  her,  ht;  forced  her  into  the  painting- 
room,  and  bolted  the  door. 

"  Answer  me,"  said  he  fiercely,  "  how  came  that  book  into  your 
possession  ?"  pointing  to  it  as  it  still  lay  upon  the  floor.  "  Whence  J 
>>ave  vou  this  infernjU  likeness  I  Speak !" 


139 

Laura  looked  at  the  drawing",  then  at  the  book,  and  at  once  uT, 
lerstood  tlie  cause  of  her  lover's  frenzy,  Suicere  compassion 
filled  her  l»eavt ;  yet  she  felt  how  unjust  was  the  treatment  whicli 
she  received ;  and,  with  calm  dignity,  said,  "  I  will  answer  all  your 
questions,  and  then  you  will  judge  whether  you  have  deserved 
ihat  I  should  do  so.'* 

"  Whom  would  not  that  face  deceive  ?"  said  Harc^rave,  gnash- 
ing his  teeth  in  agony.  **  Speak  sorceress— tell  me,  if  you  dare, 
that  this  is  not  the  portrait  of  De  Courc^N—that  he  is  not  the  lover 
for  whom  I  am  loathed  and  spurned." 

"  That  this  is  the  portrait  of  De  Courcy,'*  replied  Laura,  with 
the  simple  majesty  of  truth.  "  It  is  the  sketch  from  which  I  finish- 
ed a  picture  for  his  sister.  That  book  too  is  his,"  and  she  stooped 
to  lift  it  from  the  ground.  *'  Touch  not  the  vile  thing,"  cried  Mar- 
grave, in  a  voice  of  thunder.  With  quiet  self-possession,  Laura 
continued,  "  Mr.  De  Courcy's  father  was,  as  you  know,  the  friend 
of  mine.  Mr.  De  Courcy  himself  was,  when  an  infant,  known  to 
my  father;  and  they  met,  providentially  met,  when  v/e  had  great 
•need  of  a  considerate  friend.  That  friend  Mr.  De  Courcy  was  to 
us,  and  no  selfish  motive  sullied  his  benevolence  ;  for  he  is  not,  nor 
ever  was,  nor,  I  trust,  ever  will  be,  known  to  me  as  a  lover  !" 

The  voice  of  sober  truth  had  its  effect  upon  liargrave,  and  he 
said,  more  conlfposedly,  "  Will  you  then  give  me  your  word,  that 
De  Courcy  is  not,  nor  ever  will  be,  dear  to  you  ?" 

'*  No  !** '^twwered  Laura,  "I  will  not  say  so,  for  he  must  be 
loved  whefevef  his  virtues  are  known  ;  but  I  have  no  regard  for 
him  tliat  should  disquiet  you.  It  is  not  such,"  continued  she, 
struggling  with  the  rising  tears — "  it  is  not  such  as  would  pardon 
outrage,  and  withstand  neglect,  and  humble  itself  before  unjust 
aspersion." 

"  Oh  Laura,"  said  liargrave,  at  once  convinced  and  softened,  "  I 
must  believe  you,  or  my  heart  will  burst." 

"  I  have  a  right  lo  be  believed,"  returned  Laura,  endeavouring 
to  rally  her  spirits.  'Now,  then,  release  me,  after  convincing 
me  that  the  passion  of  which  you  boast  so  much,  is  consistent  with 
the  most  insolent  disrespect,  the  most  unfounded  suspicion." 
But  Hargrave  was  again  at  her  feet,  exhausting  every  term  of  en- 
dearment, and  breathing  forth  the  most  fervent  petitions  for  for- 
giveness. 

Tears,  which  she  could  no  longer  repress,  now  streamed  down 
Laura's  cheeks,  while  she  said,  **  How  could  you  suspect  me  of 
the  baseness  of  pretending  a  regard  which  1  did  not  feel,,  of  con- 
firming engagements  from  which  my  affections  revolted !"  Har- 
grave, half  wild  with  the  sight  of  her  tears,  bitterly  reproached 
himself  with  his  injustice  ;  vowed  that  he  believed  her  all  perfec- 
tion ;  that,  with  all  a  woman's  tenderness,  she  possessed  the 
tvulh  and  purity  of  angels,  and  that,  could  she  this  once  pardon 
hi:-  extravagance  he  would  never  morecli'end  But  Laura,  vexed 
and  aslunaed  of  her  wealmess,  insisted  on  her  release  in  a  tone 


14# 


would  be  obeyed,  and  Hargrave,  too  mucli  humbled  to  be  dar 
ihjj,  unwilling-ly  suffered  her  to  retire. 

In  the  faint  hope  of  seeing  her  ag-ain,  he  waited  till  Montreville 
was  ready  to  admit  him  ;  but  liaura  was  not  with  her  father,  nor 
did  she  appear  during  the  remainder  of  his  visit.  Desirous  to 
know  in  what  light  she  had  represented  their  affair,  in  order  that 
his  statement  might  tally  with  hers,  he  again  avoided  the  subject, 
resolving  that  next  day  he  should  be  better  prepared  to  enter  up- 
on it.  With  this  view,  he  returned  to  Montreville's  lodgings  ear- 
ly in  the  next  forenoon,  hoping  for  an  opportunity  to  consult  vvitK 
Laura  before  seeing  her  father.  He  was  shown  into  the  parloui-, 
which  was  vacant.  He  waited  long,  but  Laura  came  not.  He  sent 
a  message  to  beg  that  she  would  admit  him,  and  v/as  aiiswered  that 
she  was  sorry  it  was  not  in  iier  power.  He  desired  the  messen- 
ger to  say  that  his  business  was  important,  but  was  told  that  Miss 
Montreville  was  particularly  engaged.  However  impatient,  he 
was  obliged  to  submit.  He  again  saw  Montreville  Nvithout  enter- 
ing upon  the  subject  so  near  his  heart  ;  and  left  the  house  without 
obtaining  even  a  glimpse  of  Laura. 

The  following  day  he  was  equally  unsuccessful.  He  indeed  saw 
Laura  ;  but  it  was  only  in  the  presence  of  her  father,  and  she 
gave  him  no  opportunity  of  addressing  her  particularly.  Finding 
that  she  f.dhered  to  the  resolution  she  had  expressed,  of  seeing 
him  no  more  wifeliout  witnesses,  he  wrote  to  her,  warmly  remon- 
strating against  the  barbarity  of  her  determination,  and  beseech- 
ing her  to  depart  from  it,  n  only  in  a  single  instance.  The 
billet  received  no  answer,  and  Laura  continued  to  act  as  be- 
fore. 

Fretted  almost  to  fever,  Havgrave  filled  whole  pages  with  the 
description  of  his  uneasiness,  and  complaints  of  the  cruelty  which 
caused  it.  In  conclusion,  he  assured  Laura  that  he  could  no  Ion- 
ger  refrain  from  confiding  his  situation  to  her  father;  and  entreat- 
ed to  see  her,  were  it  only  to  learn  in  what  terms  she  would  per- 
mit him  to  mention  their  engagement.  This  letter  was  rathei* 
more  successful  than  the  former  ;  for,  though  Laura  made  no  re- 
ply to  the  first  part,  she  answered  the  close  by  a  few  cautious  lines, 
leaving  Hargrave,  excepting  in  one  point,  at  full  liberty  as  to  his. 
communications  with  her  father. 

Thus  authorized,  he  seized  the  first  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  Montreville.  He  informed  him  that  he  had  reason  to  believe 
himself  not  i;idil}erent  to  Laura  ,  but  that,  some  of  his  little  irre- 
gularities coming  to  her  knowledge,  she  had  sentenced  him  to  a 
probation  whicli  was  yet  to  continue  for  above  a  year.  Though 
Hargrave  guarded  his  words  so  as  to  avoid  direct  falsehood,  the 
conscious  crimson  I'ose  to  his  face  as  he  uttered  this  subterfuge. 
But  he  took  instant  refuge  in  the  idea  that  he  had  no  choice  left ; 
and  that,  if  thf  re  was  any  blame,  it  in  fact  belonged  to  Laura, 
for  forcing  him  to  use  concealment.  He  did  yet  more.  He  erect- 
ed his  head,  and  planted  his  foot  more  firmly,  as  he  thought,  that 
Vhat  he  dared  to  do  he  diu-ed  to  justify>  were  he  not  proud  to 


i 


141 

yield  to  the  commands  of  love,  and  humanely  inclined  to  spare  the 
feeling's  of  a  sick  man.  He  proceeded  to  assure  Montrevillc,that 
though  he  must  plead  guilty  to  a  few  youthful  indiscretions,  Laura 
might  rely  upon  his  constancy  and  fidelity.  Finally,  addressing 
himself  to  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  predominant  failing  of  age, 
he  offered  to  leave  the  gi'and  atlair  of  settlements  to  Montreville*s 
own  decision  ;  demanding  only  in  return,  that  the  father  would  use 
his  interest,  or  even  his  authority,  if  necessary,  to  obtain  his 
daughter's  consent  to  an  immediate  union. 

Montreville  answered,  that  he  had  long  desisted  from  the  use 
of  authority  with  Laura,  but  that  his  influence  was  at  the  Colonel's 
service  ;  and  he  added,  with  a  smile,  that  he  believed  neither  would 
he  very  necessary. 

In  consequence  of  this  promise,  Montreville  sought  an  oppor- 
tunity of  conversiig  on  this  subject  with  his  daughter  ;  but  she 
shewed  such  extreme  reluctance  to  enter  upon  it,  and  avoided  it 
with  such  sedulous  care,  that  he  could  not  immediately  execute 
his  design.  He  observed,  too,  that  she  looked  ill,  that  she  was 
pale  and  languid.  Though  slie  would  not  confess  any  ailment,  he 
could  not  help  fearing  that  all  was  not  right ;  and  he  waited  the 
appearance  of  recovered  strength,  ere  he  shotild  enter  on  a  topic 
which  was  never  heard  by  her  without  strfng  emotion.  But  Lau- 
ra looked  daily  more  wretched.  Her  complexion  became  wan,  her 
eyes  sunk,  and  her  ii|>s  colourless. 

Hargrave  observed  the  change,  and,  half  persuaded  that  it  was 
the  effect  of  his  own  capricious  behaviour  at  their  last  interview, 
he  became  more  anxious  for  a  private  conference,  in  which  his  ten- 
derness might  sooth  her  to  forgetfulness  of  his  errors.  When  she 
was  quitting  the  room,  he  often  followed  her  to  the  dooi-,  and  en- 
treated to  be  heard  for  a  single  minute.  But  the  utmost  he  could 
obtain  was  a  determined  "  I  cannot,"  or  a  hasty  "  I  dare  not,"  and 
in  an  instant  she  had  vanished. 

Indeed  watching  and  abstinence,  though  the  chief,  were  not  the 
only  causes  of  Laura's  sickly  aspect.  Hargrave's  violence  had 
furnished  her  with  new  and  painful  subjects  of  n^editation.  While 
yet  she  thought  him  all  perfection,  he  had  often  confessed  to  her 
the  warmth  of  his  temper,  with  a  candour  which  convinced  her 
(anxious  as  she  was  to  be  so  convinced)  that  he  was  conscious  of 
his  natural  tendency,  and  vigilantly  guarded  it  from  excess  ;  con- 
sequently, that  to  the  energy  of  the  passionate  he  united  the  jus- 
tice of  the  cool.  She  had  never  v.itnessed  anv  instunce  of  his 
violence  ;  for  since  their  first  acquaintance,  she  had  her.self,  at 
least  while  she  was  present,  been  his  only  passion.  All  things 
unconnected  wiih  it  were  trivial  in  his  estimation  ;  and  till  the 
hour  which  Jiad  roused  her  caution,  she  had  unconsciously  soothed 
this  tyrant  of  his  soul  with  perpetual  incense,  by  prooYs  of  her 
tenderness,  which,  though  unobserved  bv  ot'uers,  were  not  lost 
upon  the  vanity  of  Hargrave.  Succcsbfuriove  shedding  a  placid 
gentleness  upon  his  really  polished  manners,  he  had,  without  inten- 
tion  to    deceive,    completely    misled    Laura's  judgment  of   his 


142 

character.  Kow  he  had  turned  her  eyes  from  the  vision,  and 
compelled  her  to  look  upon  the  reality  ;  and  with  many  a  bitter 
tear  she  lamented  that  ever  she  sufTered  her  peace  to  depend  up. 
on  an  union  which,  even  if  accomplished,  promised  to  compensate 
transient  rapture  with  abiding-  disqtiiet. 

But  still  fondly  attached,  Laura  took  pleasure  in  pei'suading- 
herself  that  a  mere  defect  of  temper  was  not  sucli  a  fault  as  enti- 
tled her  to  withdraw  her  promise;  and  having- made  this  conces- 
sion, she  soon  proceeded  to  convince  herself,  that  llargrave's 
love  would  make  ample  amends  for  occasional  suffering;,  however 
severe.  Still  she  assured  herself  that  if,  at  the  stipulated  time, 
he  produced  not  proofs  of  real  improvement,  much  more  if  that 
period  were  stained  with  actujil  vice,  she  would,  whatever  it 
might  cost  her,  see  him  no  more.  She  determined  to  let  notiiin.^ 
move  her  to  shorten  his  pi-obation,  nor  to  be  sa'isficd  without  the 
strictest  scrutiny  into  the  manner  in  which  it  had  been  spent. 

Aware  of  the  difficulty  of  withstanding  the  iwipiorin^  voice,  the 
pleading  eyes  of  Hargrave,  she  would  not  venture  into  temptation 
for  the  mere  chance  of  escape  ;  and  adhered  to  her  resolution  of 
affording  him  no  opportunity  to  practise  on  her  sensibility.  Nor 
was  this  a  slight  exercise  of  self-denial,  for  no  earthly  pleasure 
couldbringsuch  joy  to  Laura's  heart,  as  the  assurance,  however 
oft  repeated,  that  she  was  beloved.  Yet^  day  after  day,  she  with- 
stood his  wishes  and  her  own  ;  and  generally  spent  the  time  of  his 
visits  in  drawing. 

Meanwhile,  her  delicate  face  and  slender  form  gave  daily  greater 
indications  of  malady.  Montreville,  extremely  alarmed,  insisted 
upon  sending  for  medical  advice  ;  but  Laura  with  a  vehemence 
most  unusual  to  her,  opposed  this  design,  telling  him,  that  if  he 
persisted  in  it,  vexation  would  cause  the  reality  of  the  illness  which 
at  present  was  merely  imaginary. 

The  Captain  was  however  the  only  member  of  the  family  who 
did  not  conjecture  the  true  cause  of  Laura's  decay.  The  servant 
who  attended  her,  reported  to  her  mistress,  that  the  slender  repast 
v/as  always  presented,  untouched  by  Laura,  to  her  father  ;  and  her 
drink  was  only  water,  her  fare  coarse  and  scanty  ;  and  that  often, 
a  few  morsels  of  dry  bread  were  the  only  sustenacc  of  the  day. 
Mrs.  Stubbs,  who  entertained  a  suitable  contempt  for  poverty,  was 
no  sooner  informed  of  these  circumstances,  than  she  recollected 
with  indignation  the  awe  with  which  Laura  had  involuntary  inspi- 
red Iter  ;  and  determined  to  withdraw  part  of  her  misplaced  re- 
spect. But  Laura  had  an  air  of  command,  a  quiet  majesty  of  de- 
meanour, that  seemed  destined  to  distance  vulgar  impertinence  ; 
and  Mrs.  Stubbs  was  compelled  to  continue  her  unwilling  reve- 
rence. Determined^  however,  tliat  though  her  pride  might  suffer, 
her  interest  should  not,  she  dropped  such  hints  as  induced  Laura 
to  offer  the  payment  of  the  lodgings  a  week  in  advance,  an  offer 
which  was  immediately  accepted. 

In  spite  of  Laura's  utmost  diligence,  this  arrangement  left  her 
abuo^t  pennyless,     She  was  obliged,  in  that  inclement  season,  to 


\ 


143 

ty'ive  up  even  the  comfort  of  a  fire  ;  and  more  than  once  passed  the 
Avhole  night  in  labounng  to  supply  tlie  wants  of  tlie  following  day. 
In  the  meantime,  Hargrave  continued  to  paj  his  daily  visits,  and 
Laura  to  frustrate  all  his  attempts  to  speak  with  her  apart.  His 
patience  was  entirely  exhausted.  He  urged  Montreville  to  the  per- 
formance of  his  promise,  and  Montreville  often  approached  the 
subject  with  his  daugliter,  but  she  either  evaded  it,  or  begged  with 
such  pathetic  earnestness  to  be  spared  a  contest  which  she  was 
unable  to  bear,  that,  when  he  looked  on  the  sickly  delicacy  of  her 
frame,  he  had  not  courage  to  persecute  her  farther.  Convinced, 
however,  that  Laura's  affections  were  completely  engaged,  he  be- 
came dally  more  anxious  that  she  should  not  sacrifice  them  to  vi?hat 
he  considered  as  mistaken  prudence  ;  especially  since  Hargrave 
had  dropped  a  hint,  which,  though  not  so  intended,  had  appeared 
to  Monti  eville  to  import,  that  his  addresses,  if  rejected  in  the  pre- 
sent instaiice,  would  not  be  renewed  at  the  distant  date  to  which 
Laura  chose  to  postpone  them. 

The  father's  constant  anxiety  for  the  health  and  happiness  of  his 
child  powerfully  affected  both  his  strength  and  spirits,  and  he  was 
soon  more  languid  and  feeble  than  ever.  His  imagination,  too,  be- 
tra)^ed  increased  symptoms  of  its  former  disease,  and  he  became 
more  persuaded  that  he  was  dying.  The  selfishness  of  a  feeble 
mind  attended  his  ailments,  and  he  grew  less  tender  of  his  daugh- 
ter's feelings,  less  fearful  to  wound  her  sensibility.  To  hints  of 
his  appreliensions  for  his  own  life,  succeeded  direct  intimations  of 
his  conviction  that  his  end  was  approaching ;  and  Laura  listened, 
with  every  gradiatiton  of  terror,  to  prophetic  forebodings  of  the 
soUtiide,  want,  aWd  temptation,  to  which  she  must  soon  be  aban- 
doned- 

Pressed  by  Hargrave*s  importunities,  and  weary  of  waiting  for  a 
"^'oluntaiy  change  in  Laura's  conduct  towards  her  lover,  Montre- 
ville at  last  resolved  that  he  would  force  the  subject  which  she  was 
8o  anxious  to  shun.  For  tliis  purpose,  detaining  her  one  morning 
in  his  apartment,  he  entered  on  a  melancholy  description  of  tho 
perils  which  await  unprotected  youth  and  beauty;  and  explicitly 
declared  his  conviction,  that  to  these  perils  he  must  soon  leave  his 
child.  Laura  endeavoured,  as  she  was  wont,  to  brighten  his  dark 
imagination,  and  to  revive  his  fjiinting-  hope.  But  Montreville 
would  now  neither  suffer  her  to  enliven  his  prospects,  nor  to  divert 
him  from  the  contemplation  of  them.  He  persisted  in  giving  way 
to  his  dismal  anticipations,  till,  spite  of  !\er  efforts,  Laura's  spirits 
failed  her,  and  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  shedding  tears. 

Montreville  saw  that  she  was  affected ;  and  fondly  putting  his 
arm  round  her,  continued,  **  Yet  still,  my  sweet  Laura,  you,  who 
have  been  the  pride  of  my  life,  you  can  soften  to  me  the  bitterness 
of  death.  Let  me  but  commit  you  to  the  affection  of  the  man  whom 
I  kriow  that  you  prefer,  and  my  fears  and  wishes  shall  linger  no 
more  in  this  nether  world  " 

1    "Oh  Sir,"  said  Laura,  "  I  beseech,  I  implore  you  to  spare  me 
on  this  subject.'*    **  No !"  answered  Montreville,  "  I  have  been 


144 

silent  too  lon^.     I  have  too  long-  endangered  5'our  happiness,  in  tlic 
dread  of  g-ivinj^  you  transient  pain.     I  must  recur  to" 

**  My  dear  father,"  inten-upted  Laura,  **  I  have  already  spoken 
to  you  on  this  subject — spoken  to  you  with  a  freedom  which  I  know- 
not  where  I  found  courage  to  assiune.  I  can  only  repeat  the  same 
sentiments ;  and  indeed,  indeed,  unless  you  were  yourself  in  my 
situation,  you  cannot  imagine  with  what  pain  I  repeat  thera." 

"  I  would  willingly  respect  5'our  delicacy,"  said  Montreville, 
*•  but  this  is  no  time  for  frivolous  scruples.  1  must  soon  leave 
thee,  child  of  my  ailcctions  !  My  eyes  m\ist  watch  over  thee  no 
more;  my  ear  must  be  closed  to  the  voice  of  thy  complaining. — 
Oh  then,  give  me  the  comfort  to  know  that  other  love  will  console, 
other  arms  protect  thee." 

"Long,  long,"  cried  Laura,  clasping  his  neck,  "  be  your  affec- 
tion my  joy — long  be  your  arms  my  shelter.  But  alas  !  what  love 
could  console  me  under  the  sense  <jf  acting  wrong — what  could 
protect  me  from  an  avenging  conscience  ?" 

"  Laura,  you  carry  your  scruples  too  far.  When  I  look  on  these 
wan  cheeks  and  lustreless  eyes,  you  cannot  conceal  from  m.e  that 
you  are  sacrificing  to  these  scruples  your  own  peace,  as  well  as 
that  of  others." 

"  Ah  Sir,'*  said  Laura,  who  from  mere  despair  of  escape,  ga- 
thered courage  to  pursue  the  subject,  '*  What  peace  can  I  hope  to 
find  in  a  connexion  which  reason  and  religion  alike  condemn  ?'* 

•*  That  these  have  from  childhood  been  your  -gulden,  has  ever 
been  my  joy  and  my  pride,"  returned  Montreyille".  "But  in  this 
instance  you  forge  shackles  for  yourself,  and  tUen  call  them  the 
restraints  of  reason  and  religion.  It  were  absurd  to -aigue  on  the 
reasonableness  of  preferrmg  wealth  and  title,  with  the  man  of  your 
choice,  to  a  solitary  struggle  with  poverty,  or  a  humbling  depend- 
ence upon  strangers.  And  how,  my  dear  girl,  can  any  precept  of 
religion  be  tortured  into  a  restriction  on  the  freedom  of  your 
choice  ?" 

•'  Pardon'  me,  Sir,  the  lav,'  which  T  endeavour  to  make  my  guide 
is  here  full  and  explicit.  In  express  terms  it  leaves  me  free  to 
marry  wliom  I  w;ill,  but  with  th's  grand  reservation  that  1  marry 
*  only  in  the  Lord.'  It  cannot  be  thoui^ht  that  this  limitation  refers 
only  to  a  careh^ss  assent  to  the  truth  of  the  Gospel,  shedding  no 
purifying  influence  on  the  heart  and  life.  And  can  I  hope  for  hap- 
piness in  a  wilful  defiance  of  this  restriction?" 

*'  If  I  could  doubt,"  said  Montreville,  avoiding  a  reply  to  what 
was  unanswerable — "  if  I  cotild  doubt  that  a  union  with  Colonel 
Hargrave  would  conduce  to  your  happiness,  never  sliould  I  thus 
urge  you.  But  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  his  religious  prin- 
ciples' are  unsound,  thoug;h  the  follies  incident  to  his  sex,  and  the 
frailty  pf  human  nature,  may  have  prevailed  against  him" 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  cried  "Laura  impatiently,  *  how  can  you  employ 
such  qualifying  language  to  express — what  my  soul  sickens  at  — 
How  can  my  fatherurge  his  child  to  join  to  pollution  this  temple, 
(and  she  laid  her  hand  emphatically  on  her  breast)  which  my  great 


Master  has  ofiered  to  hallow  as  his  own  abotic  ;  !No  i  tlie  exprc-s? 
command  of  Heaven  forbids  the  sacrileg-e,  for  I  cannot  suppose 
that  when  rnari  was  forbidden  to  decade  himself  by  a  union  vitli 
vileness,  the  precept  was  meant  to  exclude  the  sex  whose  feeblcr 
passions  aflord  less  plea  for  yielding  to  their  power." 

"  Whither  does  this  enthusiasm  hurry  you  ?"  said  Montrevillc, 
in  displeasure.     "  Surely  you  will  not  call  your  marriage  v.itli  Cvj 
loneUIarg-ravc  a  union  witli  vileness."    "  Yes,"  retuiTied  Laura,  ail 
the  g-low  of  virtuous  animation  fading"  to  the  paleness  of  anguiih, 
"  if  his  vices  make  him  vile,  I  must  call  it  so." 

"  Your  language  is  as  much  too  frco,  Laura,  as  yoiir  notions  arc- 
too  rigid.  Is  it  dutiful,  think  you,  to  use  sucli  expressions  in  re- 
gard to  a  connexion  which  your  father  approves  ?  ^Vill  you  call  it 
virtue  to  sport  with  your  own  happiness,  witli  the  peace  of  a  heivt 
that  doats  upon  you — with  the  comfort  of  your  dying  parent ':'' 

"  Oh  my  father,"  cried  Laura,  sinking-  on  her  knees,  "  my  yp'n  .t 
is  already  bowed  to  the  earth — do  not  crush  it  wills  your  disj-'ca 
sui-e.    Rather  support  my  feeble  resolution,  lest,  knowing  tlie  li^l;  , 
I  should  not  have  power  t(;  ctioose  it." 

"  Aly  heart's  treasure ;"  said  Montreville,  kissing  the  tcat-s  from 
her  eyes,  "  short  is  ever  my  displeasure  with  thee:  for  1 -kno -.s 
that  though  inexperience  may  mi&lead  thy  judgment,  no  pfeasin- 
can  bribe,  no  fear  betray  thy  inflexible  rectitude.  Goontlicn^- 
convince  me  if  thou  canst,  that  thou  art  in  tlic  right  to  choo'-c  thy 
portion  amidst  self-denial,  and  obscurity,  and  dependence." 

"  Would  that  I  were  able  to  convince  you,"  returned  Luui.;, 
**  and  then  you  would  no  longer  add  to  tlie  difficulties  of  this  fear- 
ful struggle.  Tell  me  tlien,  were  Colonel  Hargrave  your  sop.,  and 
were  I  what  I  cannot  name,  could  any  passion  excuse,  aivy  circum- 
stances induce  you  to  sanction  the  cojinexicn  for  v.bich  nov/ \OLi 
plead?"  .1 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  Montreville,  **  the  cases  are  v.idely  difTcr- 
ent.  Tlie  world's  opinion  affixes  just  disgrace  to  the  vices  in  you;- 
SOX,  which  in  ours  it  views  with  more  indulgent  eyes."  f*  15ut  1,'' 
returned  Laura,  "  wlicn  1  took  upon  me  tlie  honoured  nrCme  of 
Christian,  by  tliat  very  act  became  bound  that  tlie  ojiinion  of  the 
world  should  not  regulate  my  principles,  nor  its  customs  ^uide  my 
practice.  Perhaps  e\tn  tlie  worst  of  my  sex  migi)t])lead  thfit  the 
voice  of  a  tempter  lured  them  to  perdition  ;  but  w  hat  tongtie  ran 
speak  the  vileness  of  that  tempter  ! — Could  I  promise  to  oley  hhrt 
.V  iio  wilfully  leads  others  to  tlieir  ruin  !  CouUl  Ihonour  him  who 
deceives  the  Iveartthattrusteth  in  him  !  Could  I  /or*?  him  who  cou'd 
look  upon  a  fellow  creature— once  the  image  of  the  highest,  row 
bumbled  below  the  brutes  that  perish — upon  the  hcirof  immorta- 
lity, immortal  only  to  miser}',  and  who  could,  unmoved,  uripityinir, 
seek  in  the  fallen  wretch  a  minister  of  pleasure! — Love  !"  eonti'nufd 
Laura,  forgetting  in  the  deformity  of  the  hideous  image  that  it  was 
capable  of  individual  application,  *'  words  cannot  express  the  en- 
ergy of  m;y  abhorrence '." 

Vol.  I.  K 


146 

*•  Were  Ilargravc  shcL— or  to  continue  such"— said  iMontre- 
yille — "  Hargrave  !"  ci'icd  Ltiura,  almost  with  a  shriek,  "  Oh  God 
forbid — And  yet" — She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  cold 
drops  stood  on  her  forehead,  as  she  remembered  how  just  cause 
she  had  to  dread  that  the  portrait  might  be  his. 

"  Hargr:ive,"  continued  3Iontreville,  "  is  not  an  abandoned 
profligate,  thoug-li  he  m:iy  not  liave  escaped  the  follies  usual  to 
men  of  his  rank ;  and  he  lias  promised,  if  \oawill  be  favourable 
to  him,  to  live  henceforward  m  irreproachable  purity.  Heaven 
forgives  the  sins  that  are  forsaken,  and  will  you  be  less  lenient.'* 

*'  Joyfully  will  I  forgive,"'  replied  Laura,  "  when  I  am  assured 
ihat  they  arc  indeed  abhorred  and  forsaken"—"  They  are  already 
■brsakcn,"  said  Montreville ;  "  it  rests  with  you  to  confirm  Har- 
4  rave  In  the  right,  by  consenting  to  his  wishes." 

*'  1  a.sk  but  the  convktion  which  time  alone  can  bring,"  said 
I'.riMva,  "  and  then" — 

'  And  hov,^  will  you  bear  it,  Laura,  if,  Aveary  of  your  perverse 
^falays,  Hargrave  should  relinquish  his  suit?  How  would  you  bear 
yO  sec  the  ailcctions  you  have  trided  with  transferred  to  another:*' 
^  "  Bettei-,  far  better,",  ansvv-ered  Laura,  "  than  to  watch  the 
deepening  of  those  shades  of  iniquity,  that  close  at  last  into  outer 
dnrkv.ess  :  better  than  to  see  each  guilty  day  advance  and  seal  our 
■ternai  separation.  To  lose  his  affection,"  continued  she  witli  a 
'Sickly  smile,  "  f  v.ould  bear  as  I  strive  to  bear  my  other  burdens ; 
;.iul  sIiDuId  they  at  last  prove  too  heavy  for  me,  they  can  but  v,'eigh 
i.ne  to  the  earth,  j,vhere  they  and  I  must  soon  rest,  together." 

*'  Talk  not  so,  beloved  cliild,"  sAid  Montreville,  *'  a  long  life 
is  before  you.  All  the  joys  that  ambition,  all  the  joys  tbatlove  can 
offerj  r-ro  within  your  power.  A  father  invites,  implores,  I  will 
not  say  commands,  you  to  accept  them.  The  man  of  yoiu-  choice, 
to  whom  the  proudest  might  anpire,  -whom  the  coldest  of  your  sex 
might  love,  entreats  you  to  confirm  him  in  the  ways  of  virtue. 
Consent  tlien  to  this  union,  on  which  my  heart  is  set,  while  yet  it 
can  be  hallowed  l>y  the  blessing  of  your  dying  father.'* 

"  Oil  take  pity  on  me,"  Laui-a  would  have  said,  and  "league 
not  V.  ith  my  weak  heart  to  betray  me,"  but  convulsive  sobs  w^re 
ail  that  she  coxild  uttei^.  "  You  consent  then,  said  Monti-evdle, 
ohcoslng  so  to  interpret  her  sileacc — "  you  have  yielded  to  my  en- 
•Trcatics,  and  made  me  the  hapj^iest  of  fathers.**  "No!  no'.'*  cried 
Laura,  tossing  her  ai'ras  distractedly,  *'  I  will  do  right  though  my 
heart  should  break,  tio,  my  father,  my  dear  honored  father,  for 
whom  1  would  lay  down  mv  life,  not  even  vour  entreaties  shall  pre- 
vail." 

"  Ungi-ateful  child,'-'  ::aid  Montreville;  "  what  covdd  you  have 
pleaded  for,   that  your  fatlter  would  have  i-efused— your   father 
whom  anxiety  for  yonr  vcelfare  has  brought  to  the   gut.s  of  tlie 
■  grave,  Avho.so  hist  feeling  shall  bo  love  to  you,  whose  1: 
shall  bles*i  you.*'      ' 

"  Oh  mo. it  merciful,  most  gracious,"  ci-iedLaurn,  - 
har.ds;  and  rai-inj 


147 

1..  ::.c  to  be  tcinpted  above  what  I  am  able  to  beai'l.  Oh  iny  dea? 
father,  if  you  have  pity  for  misery  wnutternble,  misery  that  c;in- 
iiot  know 'relief,  sparc'me  nov,  and  suffer  me  to  think — If  thip.k 
be  vet  possible.'* 

"'  Hear  me  but  for  one  moment  more,"  said  >rontrevilIc,  who 
from  the  violence  of  her  cmojtion  ^atliered  hopes  of  success, 
**'"Oh  no !  no !"  cried  Laura,  '-rmust  1-ave  yo\i  while  yet  I  have 
the  power  to  do  rigb.t.'*  And  d:irtln(^  from  his  ])rcseDcc,  she  sliut 
herself  into  her  chamber."  There,  fdhng-  on  her  knees,  sb.e  min/r- 
Ip.d  bitter  expressions  of  anguish,  with  fervent  prayers  for  support, 

.  Ipitecus  appeals  for  mercy. 

Becoming-  by  degrees  more  composed,  slie  endeavored  toforlify 
her  resolution  by  every  argument  of  reason  and  religion  which  had 
formerly  gniided  her  determination.  She  turned  to  the  passages 
of  Scripture  which  forbid  the  unequal  yoke  \?\ih  the  unbeliever ;  con- 
vinced tltat  the  prohibition  aj)plics  no  less  to  those  whose  lives  are 
u  ich:-istian,  than  to  those  whose  faith  is  unsound.  She  asked  he; •- 
.s  ^If  whethi^r  she  was  i.ble  to  support  those  trials  (the  severest  of 
all  earLhlV ones,)  which  the  v»ife  of  a  libertine  must  undergo;  and 
whether,  in  temptations  Which  she  voluntArily  sought,  and  sorrov.'s 
which  she  of  choice  encountered,  she  should  be  entitled  to  ex- 
})ect  the  divine  support.  '•'  Holy  Father,"  she  cried,  "  what  peace 
cift  enter  where  thy  blessing  i.^  v»'ithheld!  and  shall  I  dare  to  mock 
thee  with  a  petition  for  that  blessing  on  a  union  which  tliou  hast 
fji'bidden  ?  Mxy  1  net  ratlier  fjar  that  this  deliberate  premeditated 
guilt  may  be  the  first  step  in  a  race  of  iniquity !  May  I  not  dread  to 
share  \n  tlie  awful  sentence  of  tho.%  who  are  joined  to  their  idols, 
.'.nd  be  ♦  let  alone'  to  wander  in  tlie  way  that  leadeth  to  destruc- 

■  n  r" 

Vet,  as  often  as  her  fatlier's  entreaties  rose  to  her  recollection, 
joined  witli  the  image  of  ttargrave — of  H^irgrave  beseeching,  of 
Hargrave  impassioned — Laura's  resolution  faultered;  and  half  de- 
sirous to  deceive  herself,  she  almo.'^t  doubted  of  the  virtue  of  that 
firmness  that  could  withstand  a  parent's  wish.  But  Laura  was 
Iiabitually  sunpicious  of  every  opinion  that  favoured  her  incUna.- 
tions,  habitually  aware  of  the  deceitfulness  of  her  own  heart;  and 
she  did  not,  unquestioned,  hai-bour  for  a  moment  the  insiduous 
thought  that  flattered  her  strongest  wishes.  "  And  had  my  father 
commanded  me  to  marry  where  I  was  averse,"  said  she,  *'  would  f. 
then  have  hesitated  ?  Would  my  father's  commiind  have  prevailed. 
on  pie  then  to  imdertake  duties  which  I  was  vu^likely  to  perform  : 
^o  :  there  I  would  have  resisted.  TJicre,  authority  greater  than  a 
father's  would  have  empowered  me  to  resist ;  and  I  know  that  J 
should  have  resisted  even  unto  death.  And  shall  mere  inclinatiou 
give  more  fii-mness  than  a  sense  of  duty !  Vet,  Oh  dear  father, 
think  me  not  unmindful  of  all  your  love — or  forgetftil  of  a  debt  that 
began  with  ray  being.  For  your  sake  cold  and  imng-er  shall  b.; 
light  to  me— for  you  poverty  and  toil  shall  be  pleasing.  Hut  wliut 
-"litary  sorrow  could  equal  the  pang  with  which  I  should  blufh 

.{ore  my  children  for  the  vices  of  their  father!  Who.t  is  the  wast- 


148 

.;-■  u»  laiiilhc  I)  ilie  mortal  anguish  orwatching-tiic  deciijiir-g  iovc, 
..e  transferred  desires,  tlie  g-rowing-  depravity  of  my  husband  !" 

I:i  thovig'bt^  and  struggles  like  tlicsc,  Laura  passed  the    day 

lor.e.     Montrcvlllc,  though  disappointed  at  his  HI  success  with  his 

'■■lighter,  wa?-'  iiv-^t  vvjthout  hope  that  a  loAer's  prayers  might  prc- 

aii  where  a  lather's  were  inefFectual ;  and  believing  that  the  sea- 

■)n  of  Laura's  emotion  was  a  f;ivoiirablc  one  for  the  attempt,  he 

MS  anxious  for  the  daily  visit  of  Ilargrave, 

But,  for  the  first  time  since  his  meeting  with  Laura,  Hargrave 

id  not  appear.     In  her  present  frame,  Laura  felt  his  absence  al- 

.;ost  a  relief;  but  Montrcville  was  uneasy  and  half  alarmed.     It 

as  late  in  the  evening  when  a  violent  knocking  at  the  house  do(Jt 

•?rUed  Montreville,  who  was  alone  in  his  apartment;  and  the 

..t^t  m-ntLtc, without  being  announced,  Hargrave  burst  into  the 

)om.     His  hair  v/as  dishevelled,  his  dres's  neglected,  and  his  eyes 

■:.l  a  Vv'ildness  v/hich  Montrcville  had  never  before  seen  in  them. 

abruptly  grasping  Montre>ilIe's  hand,  he  said,  in  the  voice  of  one 

.tiuggling  for  composure,  "  Have  you  performed  your  promise — 

.;;.ve  you  spoken  with  Laura?" 

*'  I  have/'  ansv/ered  Montreville;  "  and  have  urc;ed  her,  till,  had 
you  seen  her,  j'ou  would  yourself  have  owned  that'l  went  too  far. 
But  you  look"— . 

"  Has  she  coiisented,'"  interrupted  Hargrave — "  will  she  give 
'iev$elf  to- me:" 

ISIontrevilie  shook  his  head.  "  Her  affections  are  v/hoily  yours," 
^aid  he,  **  you  may  yourself  be  more  successful — 1  fervently  wish 
diat  you  miiv.  But  why  this  strange  emotion  ?  \VTiat  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

*«  Nothing,  nolliing,"  said  Hargrave,  "  ask  me  no  questions  ;  but 
ot.  me  speak  iiostantly  with  Laura." 

"  You  shall  see  her,"  returned  Montreville,  opening  the  door, 

.ind  calling'  Laura,  "  Only  I  beseech  you  to  command  yourself,  for 

::y  poor  child  is  already  half  distracted."     *'  She  is  the  fitter  to 

onverse  v/lth  me,"  said  Hargrave,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "  for  I  am 

pon  the  very  verge  of  madness." 

Laura  came  at  her  father's  summons;  but  when  she  saw  Har- 
^^ravc,  the  colour  faded  from  her  face,  an  universal  tremor  seized 
her,  she  stopped,  and  leaned  on  tlie  door  for  support.  "  Colonel 
Hargrave  wishes  to  speak  v/ith  you  alone,"  said  Montreville,  "  go 
vith  him  to  the  paHour." 

"  I  cannot,"  answered  Laura,  ia  words  scarcely  audible — "this 
ui^^ht  I  cannot." 

"  I  command  you  to  go,*'  said  the  father  in  a  tone  wliich  he  had 
seldom  employed,  and  L:>.ura  instantly  prepared  to  go.  *'  Surely, 
surely,'*  said  she,  "  Heaven  will  not  leave  me  to  my  own  weakness, 
whilst  1  act  in  «?bedience  to  you." 

Perceiving  that  she  trembled  violently,  Hargrave  offered  her 
the  support  of  his  circling  arm  ;  but  Laura  instantly  disengaged 
*iierself.  "  Will  you  not  lean  on  mc,  dearest  Laura,"  said  he  j 
*'  perhaps  it  is  for  the  last  time." 


149 

■•  I  iioj-'f,  •  Misweved  Laura,  endcavolu...^i  lu  c.\ci .   i.<.-- 
•  it  will  be  the  last  time  that  you  will  avail  yourself  of  my  iaL 
j.iithority  to  constrain  me." 

"  Spare  your  reproaches,  Laura/'  said  Hai-grave,  **  for  1  c.n. 
desperate.  All  that  I  desire  on  earth — my  life  itself  depends  upon 
this  hour." 

They  entered  the  parlour,  and  Laura,  sinkin.tj  into  a  sc;it,  cov- 
ered  her  eyes  witli  her  hand,  and  sti*ove  to  prepare  for  answering- 
this  new  call  upon  her  firmness. 

Harg-rave  stood  silent  for  some  moments.  Fain  would  he  have 
fianed  a  resistless  petition;  for  the  events  of  that  day  had  hasten- 
ed the  unravelling-  of  a  talc  which,  once  known  to  Laura,  would. 
I  e  knew,  make  all  his  petitions  vain.  But  hi.?  impatient  spirit 
could  not  wait  to  conciliate;  and,  seizing"  her  hand,  he  said,  with 
breathless  eagerness,  **  Laura,  you  once  said  that  yoti  loved  me. 
and  I  believed  you.  Now  to  the  proof—and  if  tliat  fi.il — But  I  will 
rot  distract  myself  with  the  thoug-lit.  You  have  allowed  me  ;l  ' 
tanthope.  Recall  your  sentence  of  delay."  Circumstances 
you  cannot — must  not  know,  leave  you  bi.t  one  alternative,  ik- 
mine  nov.-,  oryoii  are  for  ever  lost  to  me  !" 

Astonished  at  his  words,  alarmed  by  tiie  ill-supprc&sed  volicTr 
ence  of  his  manner,  Laura  tried  lo  read  his  altered  comitfTi?.; 
arid  feared  she  knew  not  v.'hat     '*  Tell mc  what  you  mean  r"  ;;.;i 
she.     "  What  mean  these  strang-e  words — these  v.ild  looks.     '\VJiy 
have  VK)U  come  at  tisis  late  hour?''  -    ' 

"Ask  me  notlving',"  cried  Kargrave,  ";  .  '  ' 'c  Speai:. 
Will  you  be  mine — now — to-morrow— -.vith jr.  ;  ;i-.^:,     ^joon, 

very  soon,  it v.i'll  be  no  lonc-er  possible  for  you  Kj  •..•.•-•.-.'' 

A  hectic  of  resentment  kindled  in  Laura's  ciieck  al  '.he  llire:;-. 
of  deortion  wliich  she  imag-ined  to  lark  beneath  the  woi-ds^  of  liar 
j^rave.  **  You  have,"  saidSR?,  *'  I  know  net  ho\7,  eiiteuded  my 
conditional  promise  to  receive  you  as  a  friend  far  beyond  v,-!.iit  'ia 
terms  of  it  could  warranto     In  making-  eve;^  such  an  e:' 

pei-haps  I  condescended  too  fur.     But,  admittb-.g-  it  in 

sense,  what  right  luive  jou   to  suppose  that  I  am  to  be  vrenkiy 
terrified  into  renotmcing  u  resolution  formed  on  the  best  grounds  ?*' 

"  I  have  no  right  to  expect  it,"  said  Ilai^gravc,  in  a  voice  ri' 
misery.  "  1  came  to  you  in  desperation.  1  cannot — will  not  sur- 
vive the  loss  of  you ;  and  if  I  prevail  not  nov/,  vou  must  be  1(>  t  to 
me." 

"  What  means  tills  strange,  tins  presuming  haste  .'*  h..'. 
"  Why  do  you  seem  thus  v/retohod  i" 

"1  am,  indeed,  most  wretched.     Oh  Laura,  thus  Ci:  : 
l  conivire  you  to  have  pity  on  me ; — or,  if  it  will  cost  you  a  p-:.^  to 
lose  me,  have  pity  on  yourself.     And  if  t!iy  love  be' too  feeble  to 
bond  thy   stubborn  will,  let  a  father's  wishes,  a  father's  praverc^ 

.ne  to' its  aid." 

'•  Oh  Hargrave,"  cried  Laura,  bursting  into  tears,  "hoivhavc 
;I  deserved  that  you  should  lay -on  me  ^us  heavy  loa<i — -hat  Ton 
!  should  force  mo  to  rc::st  the  ciitreaties  of  m/Yaiher." 


150 

"■*  Bo  nov — On  do  not  resist  them.  Let  a  fatlicr'g  prayers — let 
the  pleadings  of  a  wrelch  whose  reason,  whose  life  depends  upon 
you,  prevail  to  ir.ove  you." 

"  Nothin.i^  shall  move  me,"  said  Laura,  with  the  firmness  of 
despair,  **  for  I  am  used  to  misery,  and  will  bear  it." 

"  And  will  you  bear  it  too  if  driven  from  virtuous  love — from 
domestic  joy,  I  turn  to  the  bought  smiles  of  harlots,  forget  you  in 
the  haunts  orf  riot,  or  in  the  grave  of  a  suicide  ?'* 

"  Oh  for  mercy,"  cried  the  terrified  Laura,  **  talk  not  so  dread- 
fully.  Be  patient — I  implore  you.  Fear  not  to  lose  me.  Be  but 
virtuous,  ar.d  no  power  of  man  shall  wrest  me  from  you.  In  pov- 
erty— in  sickness — in  disgrace  itself,  I  will  cleave  to  you.'* 

«*  Oh,  I  believe  it,"  said  Hargrave,  moved  even  to  woman's 
weakness,  *•'  for  thou  art  an  angel.     But  wilt  thou  cleave  to  me 

♦'  In  what,"  said  Laura. 

'•'  Ask  me  nothing — but  yield  to  my  earnest  entreaty.  Save  me 
j^om  the  horrors  of  loosing  you;  and  may  Heaven  forsake  me  if 
ever  again  I  give  you  cause  to  repent  of  your  pity.'* 

Softened  by  his  imploring  looks  and  gestures,  overpowered  by 
his  vehemence,  harassed  beyond  her  strength,  Laura  seemed  al- 
most expiring.  But  the  upright  spirit  shared  not  the  weakness  of 
its  frail  abode.  *'  Cease  to  importune  me,"  said  she ; — *•  everlast- 
ing were  my  cause  of  repentence,  should  I  wilfully  do  wrong. 
You  may  break  my  heart — it  is  already  broken,  but  my  resolution 
fe  immoveable." 

Fire  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  Hargrave ;  as,  starting  from  her 
ffeet,  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  frenzy,  "  Ungrateful  woman,  you  have 
never  loved  me  I  You  love  nothing  but  the  fancied  virtue  to  which 
I  am  sacrificed.  But  tremble,  obdurate,  lest  I  dash  from  rae  this 
hated  life,  and  my  perdition  be  on  your  soul !" 

**  Oh  no,"  cried  Laura,  in  an  agony  of  terror,  "  I  will  pray  for 
pou^ — pity  you, — v/hat  shall  I  say — love  you  as  never  man  was  lov- 
o-d.     ^\^o\lfd  that  it  were  possible  to  do  more  !** 

"  Speak  then  your  final  rejection,"  said  Hargrave,  grasping  her 
liand  with  oonvulsive  energy,  **  and  abide  by  the  consequence."' 
"'I  must  not  fear  consequences,"  said  Laura,  trembhng  in  every 
limb.  "  They  are  in  the  hands  of  Heaven."  "  Then  be  this  first 
iond  parting  kiss  our  last!'*  cried  Hargi-ave,  and  frantickly  sti-ain- 
"ngher  to  liis  breast,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Surprise,  confusion,  a  thousand  various  feelings  kept  Laura  for 
a  \\  hile  motionless  ;  till,  Ilargravc's  parting  words  ringing  in  her 
tar,  a  dreadful  apprehension  took  possession  of  her  mind.  Start- 
ing from  her  seat,  and  following  him  with  her  arms  as  if  she  could 
still  have  detained  him,  "  Oh  Hargrave,  what  mean  you  r*'  she  cri- 
^d.  But  Hargrave  was  already  beyond  the  reach  of  her  voice; 
and,  sinking  to  the  grotmd,  the  wretched  Laura  found  refuge  from 
her  misery  in  long  and  deep  insensibility. 

In  the  attitude  in  which  she  had  fallen,  her  Uly  arms  extended  on 
b.e  ground,  her  dcritl^-Uke  cheek  resting  upon  one  of  them,  she  was 


151 

found  by  a  servant-  who  accldently  entered  the  room,  and  whose 
cries  soon  assembled  the  family.  Montreville  alarmed  hastened 
down  stairs,  and  came  in  just  as  the  maid  with  the  assistance  of  the 
landlady  was  raising  Laura,  to  all  appearance  dead. 

**  Merciful  Heaven  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  this  ?"  The  im- 
feeling  landlady  immediately  expressed  her  opinion  that  Miss  Mon- 
treville had  died  of  famine,  declaring  that  she  had  long  feared  as 
much.  The  horror-struck  father  had  scarcely  power  to  ask  her 
meaning.  "  Oh  Sir,"  said  the  maid,  sobbing  aloud,  "  I  fear  it  is 
but  too  true— for  she  cared  not  for  herself,  so  you  were  but  well — ^for 
slie  was  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever  was  born — and  many  a  long 
night  has  she  sat  up  toiling  when  the  poorest  creature  was  asleep— 
for  she  never  cared  for  herself,'* 

The  whole  truth  flashed  at  once  upon  Montreville,  and  all  the 
storm,  from  which  his  dutiful  child  so  well  had  sheltered  him,  b^^rst 
upon  him  in  a  moment.  *'  Oh  Laura,"  he  cried,  clasping  her  hfe- 
l^ss  form,  "  my  only  comfort — my  good — my  gentle — my  blameless 
child,  hast  thou  nourished  thy  father  with  thy  life  !  Oh  why  didst 
thou  not  let  me  die!"  Then  laying  his  cheek  to  hers,  "  Oh  she  is 
cold — cold  as  clay,*'  he  cried,  and  the  old  roan  wrung  his  hands,  and 
sobbed  Uke  an  infant. 

Suddenly  he  ceased  his  lamentation ;  and  pressing  his  hands  on 
his  breast,  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and  sunk  down  by  the  side  of  his 
senseless  child.  His  alarm  and  agitation  burst  again  the  blood-ves- 
sel, which  before  had  been  slightly  healed,  and  he  was  conveyed  to 
bed  without  hopes  of  life.  A  surgeon  was  immediately  found,  but 
he  administered  his  prescription  without  expecting  its  success ;  and, 
departing,  left  the  dying  Montreville  to  the  care  of  the  landlady. 

The  tender-hearted  Fanny  remained  with  Laura,  and  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  restoring  her  to  animation.  She  then  persuaded  her  to 
swallow  a  little  wine,  and  endeavoured  to  prevail  upon  her  to^etire 
to  bed.  But  Lauta  refused.  "  No,  my  kind,  good  ^rl,"  said  she, 
laying  her^unn  gratefully  on  Fanny's  shoulder,  '  •  I  must  see  my  fa- 
ther before  I  sleep.  I  have  thwarted  his  will  to-day,  and  will  not 
sleep  without  his  blessing.  Fanny  then  besought  her  so  earnestly 
not  to  go  to  the  Captain's  chamber,  that  Laura,  filled  as  every 
thought  was  with  Hargrave,  took  alarm,  and  would  not  be  detained. 
The  girl,  dreading  the  consequences  of  the  shock  that  awaited  her, 
threw  her  arms  round  her  to  prevent  her  departure.  '*  Let  me  go," 
cried  Laura  struggling  with  her,  "  he  is  ill :  I  am  sure  he  is  ill,  or 
he  would  have  come  to  watch  and  contforthis  wret<!hed  child." 

Fanny  then,  with  all  the  gentleness  in  her  power,  informed  Laura 
that  Montreville,  alarmed  by  the  sight  of  her  fdnting,  had  been 
suddenly  taken  ill.  Laura,  in  terror  which  effaced  the  remembrance 
of  all  her  former  anguish,  scarcely  suffered  her  attendant  to  finish 
her  relation ;  but  broke  from  her,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  her  totter- 
ing limbs  would  bear  her  to  her  father's  chamber. 

Sofdy,  on  tiptoe,  she  stole  to  his  bed-side,  and  drew  the  curtain. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  and  death  seemed  already  stamped  on  every 
feature.    t,aur^  shuddered  convulsively,  and  shrunjtbagk  jn  horror. 


152 

But  the 'dread  of  scaring  tlie  spirit  from  its  frail  tenement  suppres- 
sed the  cry  that  was  rising-  to  her  lips.  Trembling  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  his.  He  looked  up,  and  a  gleam  of  joy  brightened  in  his  dy- 
ing eyes  as  they  rested  on  his  daughter.  "  Laura,  my  beloved," 
s^d  he,  drawing  her  gently  towards  him,  **  thou  hast  been  the  joy 
of  my  life.  I  tliank  God  that  thou  art  spared  to  comfort  me  in 
death." 

Laura  tried  to  speak  the  words  of  hope ;  but  the  sounds  died 
upon  her  Ups. 

After  a  pause  of  dread  silence,  Montreville  said,  "  This  is  the 
hour  when  thy  father  was  wont  to  bless  thee.  Come,  and  I  will 
bless  thee  still.*' 

The  weeping  Laura  sank  upon  her  knee^,  and  Montreville  laid 
one  hand  upon  her  head,  while  she  still  held  the  other,  as  if  wishing 
to  detain  him.  "  My  best — my  last  blessing  be  upon  thee,  child  of 
my  heart,"  said  he.  "  The  everlasting  arms  be  around  thee,  when 
mine  can  embrace  thee  no  more.  The  father  of  the  fatherless  be  a 
parent  to  thee ;  support  thee  in  sorrow ;  crown  thy  youth  with  joy 
— thy  gray  hairs  with  honour;  and,  when  thou  art  summoned  to  thy 
kindred  angels,  may  thy  heaj^-t  throb  its  last  ^  some  breast  kind  and 
noble  as  thine  own."  '^'' 

Exhausted  by  the  effort  which  he  liad  made,  Montreville  sunk 
back  on  his  pillow  ;  and  Laura,  in  agony  of  supplication,  besought 
Heaven  to  spare  him  to  her.  "  Father  of  mercies  !"  she  inwardly 
ejaculated,  "  if  it  be  possible,  save  mc,  oh  save  me  from  this  fearful 
stroke, — or  take  me  in  pity  from  this  desolate  wilderness  to  the  rest 
of  thy  chosen." 

The  dead  of  night  came  on,  and  all  but  the  WTetched  Laura  was 
still  Montreville  bi*eathed  softly.  Laui-a  thought  he  slept,  and 
stifled  even  her  sighs,  lest  they  should  avv'ake  him.  In  the  stillness 
of  the  dead,  but  in  agony  of  suspence  thjit  Lbaffles  description,  she 
continued  to  kneel  by  his  bed-side,  and  to  return  his  relaxing  grasp, 
till  she  felt  a  gentle  pressure. of  her  hand,  and  looked  up  to  inter- 
pret the  gesture.  It  was  the  last  expression  of  a  father's  love.  Mon- 
treville was  gone ! 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

OoLONfiL  Hargrave  liad  been  the  spoll'^.d  child  ofa  wetk  ni.> 
acr,  and  he  continued  to  retain  on^2  characteristic  of  spoilefl  chil- 
dren; some  powerful  stimulant  Vifas  with  h:m  anecessaiyof  llff  — 
fie  despised  all  pleasures  of  regular  recun-eiice  anAiiiodcrat'-  d'?- 
^ree ;  and  even  looked  down  upon  those  v/ho  coujffc^ie  satisfied 
with  such  enioyments,  as  on  beings  confined  to  a  meimer  mode  of 
existence.  For  more  than  a  year  I^ura  had  furnished  the  aninui- 
'  ing  principle  which  kept  life  iro:Ti  stii^nation.    When  site  w^is  tn-e- 


153 

bCiU,  her  beauty,  her  reserve,  her  ill-conccalcf.l  affection,  kept  hi? 
pass  ons  hi  constant  play.  In  her  absence,  the  interpretatiors  ot' 
looks  and  gestures,  of  which  she  had  been  unconscious,  and  the 
anticipation  of  concessions  which  she  thought  not  of  making-,  fur- 
nished  occupation  for  the  many  liouvs  which,  for  v/ant  of  literary 
liabits,  Colonel  Hartj^rave  was  obllg-cd  to  pass  in  solitude  and  lei- 
sure, when  deprived  of  fashionable  company,  public  amusements, 
and  tolerable  romances.  In  a  little  country  town,  these  latter  re- 
sources were  soon  exhausted,  and  liargrave  had  no  associates  to 
supply  the  blank  among-  his  brother  ofHceis  ;  some  of  whom  were 
low  both  in  birth  and  education,  and  others,  from  various  reasons, 
r&tlier  rcpellirig-,  than  courting  his  intimuc}-.  One  had  a  pretty 
wife,  another  an  unmarried  daughter ;  and  the  phlegmatic  tempe- 
rament and  reserved  manners  of  a  third  tallied  not  with  Hargrave's 
constitutional  warmth.  The  departure  of  Laura,  therefore,  de- 
prived him  at  once  of  the  only  society  that  amused,  and  the  only 
object  that  interested  him.  He  was  prevented  by  the  caution  of 
Mrs.  Douglas  from  attempting  a  correspondence  with  his  mistress; 
find  his  muse  was  exhausted  with  composing  amatory  sonnets,  and 
straining  half-imaginary  torments  into  reluctant  rhymes. 

He  was  soon  tired  of  making  sentimental  visits  to  the  now  der 
serted  Glenalbert,  and  grew  weary  of  inspecting  liis  treasures  of 
pilfered  gloves  and  stray  shoe-bows.  His  new  system  of  reform, 
too,  sat  rativer  heavily  upon  him.  He  was  not  exactly  satisfied 
with  its  extent,  though  he  did  not  sec  in  what  respect  it  v/as  sus- 
ceptible of  improvement.  He  had  some  suspicion  that  it  v/as  not 
entitled  to  the  full  approbation  of  the  "  the  wise,  the  pious,  the 
sober-minded"  observers,  whom  he  imagined  that  Laura  had  char- 
ged  with  the  inspection  of  hi^  conduct;  and  he  reflected,  with  a 
mixture  of  fear  and  impatience,  that  by  them  every  action  would 
he  reported  to  Laura,  v/ith  alltlie  aggravation  of  illiberal  comment. 
For  Oiough  he  did  not  distinctly  define  the  idea  to  himself,  he  che-' 
fished  a  latent  opinion,  that  the  "wise"  would  be  narrov/ -minded, 
the  "  pious"  bigoted,  and  the  "  sober-minded"  cynical.  The  feel- 
ing of  being  watch«;d  is  completely  destructive  of  comfort,  even  to 
those  who  have  least  to  conceal;  and  Colonel  Hargrave  sought 
relief  .at  once  from  restraint  and  ennui,  in  exhibiting,  at  the  Edin- 
burgh races,  four  horses  which  were  the  envy  of  all  the  gentle- 
men, and  a  person  wliich  was  the  admiration  of  all  the  ladies. — 
Kis  thoughts  dissipated,  and  his  vanity  gratified,  his  passion  had 
never,  since  its  first  existence,  been  so  little  troublesome  as  during 
his  stay  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  once  or  twice,  as  he  caught  a  languish- 
ing glance  from  a  gay  young  heiress,  he  thought  he  had  been  a 
little  precipitate  in  changing  his  first  designs  in  regard  to  Laura. 
But  alas !  the  races  endure  only  for  one  short  week ;  Edinburgh 
was  deserted  by  its  glittering-  birds  of  passage  ;  and  Hargrave  re- 
turned to  his  quarters,  to  solitude,  and  to  the  conviction  that,  how- 
ever obtained,  tlie  possession  of  Laura  was  necessary  to  his  peace. 

Finding  that  her  return  was  as  uncertain  as  ever,  he  resolved  to 
follow  her  to  London ;  and  the  caution  of  Mrs.  Douglas  baffling^ 


154 

iiis  attempts  lo  procure  her  address  from  any  otlier  quarter,  he 
contrived  to  obtam  it  by  bribin,^  one  of  the  under  attendaiits  of  tiie 
Post-office  to  transcribe  for  him  the  superscription  of  a  letter  to 
Miss  Montreville.  Defig-hted  with  his  success,  he  could  not  re- 
fuse himself  the  triumph  of  making  it  known  to  Mrti.  Douglas ;  and, 
by  calling  to  ask  her  commands  for  her  young  friend,  occasioned 
tl>e  letter  of  caution  from  her  to  Laura,  which  has  been  formerly 
mentioned. 

The  moment  he  reached  London,  he  hastened  to  make  ibquiries 
after  the  abode  of  Captain  Montreville  ;  but  his  search  was  disap- 
pointed by  the  accidents  which  he  afterwards  related  to  Laura. — 
Day  after  day,  he  lioped  that  Laura,  by  sending  to  jSIr.  Baynard's 
chambers,  would  afford  him  the  means  of  discovering  her  resi- 
dence. But  every  day  ended  in  disappointment ;  and  Hargrave, 
who,  hitending  to  devote  all  his  time  to  her,  had  given  no  intima- 
tion to  his  ft'iends  of  his  arrival  in  town,  found  himself  as  solitary, 
listless,  and  uncomfortable  as  before  he  quitted  Scotland. 

One  evening,  when,  to  kill  the  time,  he  had  sauntered  into  the 
Theatre,  he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  the  beautiful  Lady  Bel- 
lamer.  Two  years  before,  Hargrave  had  been  the  chief  favourite 
of  Lady  Bellamer,  then  Miss  Walpole.  Of  all  the  danglers,  whom 
besAity,  coquetry,  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  attracted  to  her  train, 
none  was  admitted  to  such  easy  freedom  as  Hargrave.  She  laugh- 
ed more  heartily  at  his  wit,  whispered  more  liimiliarly  in  liis  ear, 
and  slapped  him  more  frequently  on  the  cheek  than  any  of  his 
rivals.  With  no  other  man  was  she  so  unreasonable,  troublesome, 
and  ridicidous.  In  short,  she  ran  through  the  whole  routine  of 
flirtation,  till  her  heart  was  entangled,  so  far  at  least  as  the  heart 
of  a  coquette  is  susceptible  of  that  misfortune.  But  whatever 
flames  were  kindled  in  the  lady's  brea,st,  the  gentleman,  as  is  usu- 
al on  such  occasions,  escaped  with  a  very  slight  singe.  While 
Miss  Walpole  was  present,  his  vanity  was  soothed  by  her  blandish- 
ments, and  his  senses  touched  by  her  charms  ;  but,  in  her  absence, 
he  consoled  himself  with  half  a  dozen  other  affairs  of  the  same  kind. 
Meanwhile  Lord  Bellamer  entered  the  lists,  and  soon  distin- 
guished himself  from  his  competitors,  by  a  question,  which,  with 
all  her  admirers.  Miss  Walpole  had  not  often  answered.  The  lady 
hesitated;  for  she  could  not  help  -contrasting  the  insignificnv.t. 
starvling  figure  of  her  suitor  with  the  manly  beauty  of  Margrave's 
person.  But  Lord  Bellamer  had  a  title  in  possession  ;  Hargrave's 
was  only  reversionary.  His  Lordship's  estate,  too,  was  larger  than 
the  Colonel's  expectations.  Besides,  she  began  to  have  doubts 
whether  her  favourite  ever  intended  to  propose  the  important  ques- 
tion; for  though,  to  awaken  his  jealousy,  she  had  herself  inform- 
ed him  of  Lord  Bellamer's  pretensions,  and  though  she  had  plaj  ed 
off  the  whole  artillery  of  coquetry  to  quicken  Ids  operations,  the 
young  man  maintained  a  resolute  and  successfid  resistance.  So, 
after  some  fifty  sighs  given  to  the  well  turned  leg  and  sparkling 
eyes  of  Hargrave,  M:ss  Walpole  became  Lady  Bellamer  ;  and  this 
w^s  the  only  change  which  marriage  effected  in  hor;  for  no  familia». 


155 

-*i^  could  increase  her  indifference  to  Lord  Bellamer,  and  no  sa> 
credncss  of  connexion  can  warm  the  heart  of  a  coquette.  She  c  on- 
timied  equally  assiduous  in  courting  admiration,  equally  daring  In 
defying  censure  ;  and  was  content  to  piu-chase  the  adulation  of  fools, 
at  the  expense  of  being  obliged  to  the  charity  of  those  who  were 
good-natured  enough  to  say,  **  to  be  sure  Lady  Bellamer  is  a  little 
giddy,  but  1  dare  say  she  means  no  harm." 

Her  husband's  departure  with  his  regiment  for  the  continent ; 
made  no  <  hange  in  her  way  of  hfe,  except  to  save  her  the  trouble  of 
defending  conduct  which  she  would  not  reforni.  She  continued  in 
London,  or  at  her  villa  at  Richmond  Hill,  to  enter  into  every  f  lly 
which  others  proposed,  or  herself  to  project  new  ones. 

Meanwhile  Hargrave's  duty  called  him  to  Scotland,  where  lady 
Bellamer  and  all  her  rivals  in  his  attention  were  entirely  forgotten 
amidst  the  superior  attractions  of  Laura;  attractions  which  acted 
with  all  the  force  of  novelty  upon  a  heart  ccustomed  to  parry  only 
premeditated  attacks,  and  to  resist  charms  tbut  were  merely  corpo- 
real. .From  an  early  date  in  his  acquaintance  with  Miss  Montreville, 
he  had  scarcely  recollected  the  existence  of  lady  Bellamer,  till  he 
found  himself  in  the  next  box  to  her  at  the  theatre.  The  pleasure 
that  sparkled  in  the  brightest  blue  eyes  in  the  world,  the  flush  that 
tinged  her  face,  wherever  the  rouge  permitted  its  natural  tints  to 
appeal*  convinced  Hargrave  in  a  nion)ent  that  her  ladyshi  's  memo- 
ry had  been  more  tenacious  ;  and  lie  readily  answered  to  her  familiar 
nod  of  invitation,  by  taking  his  place  by  her  side. 

They  cnteied  nto  conversation  with  all  the  frankness  of  their 
former  intimacy.  Lady  Bellamer  inquired  how  the  Colonel  had 
contrived  to  exist  during  eighteen  months  of  rustication ;  and  gave 
him  in  return  memoirs  of  some  of  their  mutual  acquaintance.  She 
-had  some  wit,  and  an  exuberance  of  animal  spirits  ;  and  she  season- 

■ -cd  her  nonsense  with  such  lively  salUes,  sly  scandal,  and  adroit  flat- 
tery, that  Hargrave  had  scarcely  ever  passed  an  evening  more  gaily. 
Once  or  twice,  the  composed  grace,  the  artless  majesty  of  Laura. 
v^se  to  his  recollection,  and  he  looked  absent  and  thoughtful  But 
his  companion  rallied  him  with  so  much  spirit,  that  he  quickly  re- 
covered himself,  and  fully  rep.aid  the  amusraent  which  he  received. 
He  accepted  lady  Bellamer's  invitation  to  sup  with  her  after  the 
play,  and  left  her  at  a  late  hour,  witli  a  promise  to  visit  her  again  the 
next  day.  From  tliat  time,  the  freedom  of  their  former  intercourse 
v.as  renewed;  with  tliis  difference  only,  that  Hargrave  was  released 
from  sOme  restraint,  by  his  escape  from  the  danger  of  entanglement 
whic  i  necessarily  attends  particular  assiduities  towards  an  unmar- 
ried woman.  * 

Let  the  fair  enchantress  tremble  wlio  approaches  even  in  thought 
the  utmost  verge  of  discretion.  If  she  advance  but  one  jot  beyond, 
tliat  magic  circle,  the  evil  spirit  is  ready  to  seize  her,  which  before, 
feared  ev^en  to  rise  m  her  presence  Lady  Bellaiper  became  the 
victim  or  unpardonable  im.prudence  on  her  own  part,  and  mere  con- 
stitutional tendency  on  that  of  her  paramour.  To  a  most  blameablf 
Icvitv  the.  s?criiiccd  v/hatevcT  rcrr.ainccl  to  be  sacrificed,  oi'  her  rv- 


156 

j>UUtion,  her  virtue,  and  her  marriage  vow ;  while  the  crime  ni 
Hargrave  was  not  palUuted  by  one  sentiment  of  genuine  afiection  ; 
for  she  by  whom  he  fell  was  no  more  hke  the  object  of  his  real  ten- 
derness, than  those  wandering  lights  that  arise  from  corruption  and 
glimmer  only  to  betray,  are  to  the  steady  sunbeam  which  enlightens, 
and  guides,  and  purifies  where  it  shines. 

Their  intercourse  continued,  with  growing  passion  on  the  side  of 
the  lady,  and  expiring  inclination  on  that  of  tlie  gentleman,  till  lady 
Bellamer  informed  him  that  the  consequences  of  their  guilt  coukl 
not  long  be  concealed.  Her  lord  was  about  to  return  to  his  disgrac- 
ed home  ;  and  she  called  upon  Hargrave  to  concert  with  her  the 
means  of  exchanging  shackles  which  she  would  no  longer  endure 
/or  bonds  which  she  could  bear  with  pleasure,  and  himself  to  stand 
forth  the  legal  protector  of  his  unborn  child.  Hargrave  heard  her 
with  a  disgust  which  he  scarcely  strove  to  conceal ;  for  at  that  mo- 
meni  Laura  stood  before  him,  bewitching  in  chastened  love — re- 
spectable in  saintly  purity.  He  remembered  that  the  bare  proposal 
of  a  degradation  v/hich  lady  Bellamer  had  almost  courted,  had  once 
nearly  banished  the  spotless  soul  from  a  tenement  only  less  pure 
lliun  itself  In  fancy  he  again  saw  tlirough  her  casement  the  wring- 
ing of  those  t>nowy  hands,  those  eyes  raised  in  agony,  and  tf,e  con- 
vulsive heavings  of  that  bosom  which  mourned  his  unlooked-for 
baseness ;  and  he  turned  from  lady  Bellamer,  inwardly  cursing  the 
hour  when  his  vows  to  Laura  were  sacrificed  to  a  wanton. 

The  yery  day  after  this  interview  was  that  in  which  he  accidental- 
ly encountered  Laura;  and  from  that  moment  his  whole  desire  was 
to  make  her  his  own,  before  public  report  should  acquaint  her  with 
his  guilt.  He  durst  not  trust  to  the  strength  of  her  affection  for  the 
pardon  of  so  foul  an  offence.  He  could  not  hope  that  she  would 
again  place  confiden-  e  r.  vows  of  reformation  which  had  been  so 
grossly  violated.  When  the  proper  self-distrust  of  Laura  refused 
him  the  opportunity  of  making  a  personal  appeal  to  her  sensibilities, 
he  hoped  that  her  father  might  successfully  plead  his  cause ;  and 
that  before  his  guilt  was  known  to  her,  he  might  have  made  it  at 
once  her  interest  and  her  duty  to  forget  it.  But  the  storm  was 
about  to  burst  even  more  speedily  than  he  apprehended.  Lady  Bel- 
lamer little  suspected  that  her  conduct  was  watched  with  all  the 
malice  of  jealousy,  and  all  tlie  eagerness  of  interest.  She  little  sus- 
pected that  her  confidential  servant  was  the  spy  of  her  injured  hus- 
band, bound  to  fidelity  in  this  task  by  ties  as  disgraceful  as  they 
were  strong,  and  that  this  woman  waited  only  for  legal  proof  of  her 
mistress's  guilt,  to  lay  the  particulars  before  her  lord.  Tiiat  proof 
uas  now  obtained  ;  and  lord  Bellamer  hastened  to  avail  himself  of 
it.  He  arrived  in  London  on  the  morning  of  the  List  day  of  ISIon- 
tieville's  life  ;  and,  charging  his  guilty  wife  with  her  perfidy,  ex- 
pelled her  from  his  house. 

She  flew  to  Hargrave's  lodgings,  and  found  him  preparing  for  his 
daily  visit  to  Laura.  Though  provoked  at  being  delayed,  he  was 
obliged  to  stay  and  listen  to  her,  while  she  hastily  related  the  events 
of  the  moi-ning.     She  was  about  to  speak  of  her  conviction  that,  by 


15?^ 

making"  her  his  wife,  he  would  shield  her  from  the  world's  scoru, 
and  that  he  would  not,  by  any  legal  defence,  retard  her  emancipa- 
tion. But  Hargrave  suffered  her  not  to  proceed.  He  then  per- 
ceived that  his  adventure  must  now  be  public.  It  must  immediate- 
ly find  its  way  into  the  public  prints ;  and  in  a  few  hours  it  might 
be  in  the  hands  of  Laura.  He  bitterly  upbraided  I^ady  Bellamer 
with  her  want  of  caution  in  the  concealment  of  their  amour ;  ciu*- 
sed  her  folly  as  the  ruin  of  all  his  dearest  hopes ;  and,  in  the  fren- 
zy of  his  rage,  scrupled  not  to  reveal  the  cutting  secret,  that 
while  another  was  the  true  object  of  his  affections,  Lady,  Bella- 
mer had  sacrificed  her  all  to  an  inclination  as  transient  as  it  was 
vile.  The  wretched  creature,  terrified  at  his  rage,  weakened  by 
her  situation,  overcome  by  the  events  of  the  morning,  and  stung 
by  a  reception  so  opposite  to  her  expectations,  sunk  at  his  feet  in 
violent  hysterics.  But  Hargrave  could  at  that  moment  feel  for  no 
miseries  but  his  own  ;  and  consigning  her  to  the  care  of  the  wo- 
men of  the  house,  he  was  again  about  to  hasten  to  Montreville's, 
w^hen  he  was  told  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  speak  with  him  upon 
particular  business. 

This  person  was  the  bearer  of  a  note  from  Lord  Bellamer,  im- 
porting that  he  desired  to  meet  Colonel  Hargrave  on  that  or  the 
following  day,  at  any  hour  and  place  which  the  Colonel  might  ap- 
point. After  the  injuries  given  and  received,  their  meeting,  he 
ssud,  could  have  but  one  object.  Hargrave,  in  no  humour  to  de- 
lay, instantly  replied,  that  in  three  hours  he  should  be  found  in  a 
solitary  field,  which  he  named,  at  a  few  miles'  distance  from  town, 
and  that  he  should  bring  with  him  a  friend,  and  a  brace  of  pistols. 
He  then  went  in  search  of  this  friend,  and  findbig  him  at  home, 
the  business  was  speedily  settled. 

Nothing,  in  the  slight  consideration  of  death  which  Hargrave 
suffered  to  enter  his  mind,  gave  so  much  disturbance  as  the 
thought  that  he  might,  if  he  fell,  leave  Laura  to  the  possession  of 
another.  He  willingly  persuaded  himself  that  she  had  an  attach- 
ment to  him  too  romantic  to  be  transferable.  But  she  was  poor*, 
she  might  in  time  make  a  marriage  of  esteem  and  convenience  ; 
and  Laura,  the  virtuous  Laui-a,  would  certainly  love  her  husband, 
and  the  father  of  lier  children.  The  bare  idea  stung  like  a  scorpi- 
on, and  Hargrave  hastened  to  his  man  of  business,  where  he  spent 
tlie  time  which  yet  remained  before  the  hour  of  his  appointment, 
in  dictating  a  bequest  of  five  thousand  pounds  to  Laura  Montre- 
ville ;  but  true  to  his  purpose,  he  added  a  clause,  by  which,  in 
case  of  her  marriage,  she  forfeited  the  whole. 

He  then  repau'ed  to  meet  Lord  Bellamer ;  and,  the  ground  be- 
ing taken,  Hargrave's  first  ball  penetrated  Lord  Bellamer's  shoul- 
der, who  then  fired  without  effect,  and  instantly  fell.  Hargrave, 
whose  humanity  had  returned  with  his  temper,  accompanied  his 
(■wounded  antagonist  to  a  neighbouring  cottage  to  which  he  was 
conveyed,  anxiously  procured  for  him  every  possible  comfort,  and 
heard,  with  real  joy,  that  if  he  could  be  kept  from  fever,  his  wound 
was  not  likely  to  be  mortal.    The  gentleman  who  had  been  Hai-- 

Vol..  I.  o 


158 

grave's  second,  offered  to  remain  near  Lord  Bellamer,  iu  order  to 
g-ive  warning-  to  his  friend  should  any  danger  occur  ;  and  it  was 
late  in  the  evening  before  Hargrave,  alone  and  comfortless,  re- 
turned to  town. 

Never  had  his  own  thoughts  been  such  vexatious  companions. 
To  his  own  seared  conscience,  his  crimes  might  have  seemed 
trivial ;  but  when  he  placed  them  before  him  in  the  light  in  wluch 
he  knew  that  they  would  be  viewed  by  Laura,  their  nature  seemed 
changed.  He  knew  that  she  would  find  no  plea  in  the  custom  of 
the  times,  for  endangering  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature,  and  that 
her  moral  vocabulary  contained  no  qualifying  epithet  to  palliate 
the  foulness  of  adultery.  The  next  day  would  give  publicity  to 
his  duel  and  its  cause ;  and  should  the  report  reach  Laura's  ear, 
what  could  he  hope  from  her  favour  ?  The  bribes  of  love  and  am- 
bition he  had  found  too  poor  to  purchase  her  sanction  to  the  bare 
intention  of  a  crime.  Even  the  intention  seemed  forgiven  only  in 
the  hope  of  luring  him  to  the  paths  of  virtue;  and  when  she  should 
know  the  failure  of  that  hope,  would  not  her  forgiveness  be  with- 
drawn ? 

But  Laura,  thus  on  the  point  of  being  lost,  was  more  dear  to  him 
than  ever  ;  and  often  did  he  wish  that  he  had  fallen  by  Lord  Bella- 
mer's  hand,  rather  than  that  he  should  live  to  see  himself  the  ob- 
ject of  her  indifference,  perhaps  aversion.  Time  still  remained, 
however,  by  one  desperate  effort  to  hurry  ox  terrify  her  into  imme- 
diate compliance  with  his  wishes ;  and,  half -distracted  with  the 
emotions  of  remorse,  and  love,  and  hope  and  fear,  he  ordered  his 
carriage  to  Montreville's  house.  Here  passed  the  scene  which  has 
been  already  described.  Hargrave  was  too  much  agitated  to  at- 
tend to  the  best  methods  of  persuasion,  and  he  quitted  Laura  in 
the  full  conviction  that  she  would  never  be  his  wife.  He  threw 
himself  into  his  carriage,  and  was  di-iven  home,  now  franticly  be- 
wailing his  loss,  now  vowing,  that  rather  than  endure  it,  he  would 
incur  the  penalties  of  every  law,  divine  and  human.  All  night  he 
paced  his  apartment,  uttering  imprecations  on  his  own  folly,  and 
forming  plans  for  regaining  by  fraud,  force,  or  persuasion,  his  lost 
rights  over  Laura.  At  last  his  vehemence  having  somewhat  spent 
itself,  he  th'-ew  himself  on  a  couch,  and  sunk  into  feverish  and  in- 
terrupted sleep. 

It  was  not  till  next  morning  that  be  thought  of  inquiring  after 
the  unfortunate  partner  of  his  iniquity ;  and  was  told  that,  too  ill  to 
be  removed,  she  had  been  carried  to  bed  in  the  house,  where  she 
still  remained. 

Intending  to  renew  the  attempt  of  the  preceding  night,  he  agam 
repaired  early  to  Laura's  abode;  but  his  intention  was  frustrated, 
by  t^he  deat];  of  Montreville.  On  receiving  the  information,  he  was 
at  first  a  good  deal  shocked  at  the  sudden  departure  of  a  man', 
whom,  atvW  hours  before,  he  had  left  in  m  apparent  dang-er.  But 
that' feeling  was  eftiaced  wuen  once  he  began  to  consider  the  event 
as  fiivourablt  to  his  designs  upon  Laura.  Left  to  solitude,  to  po- 
verty, perhaps  to  actual  want,  what  resource  had  she  so  eligible  as 


i5e 

the  acceptance  of  offers  splendid  and  disinterested  like  his  ?  A.nd 
he  would  ur^e  her  acceptance  of  them  with  all  the  ardour  of  pas- 
sion. He  would  alarm  her  witli  the  prospects  of  desolateness  and 
dependence ;  he  would  appeal  to  the  wishes  of  her  dead  father. 
Such  pleadings  must,  he  thought,  have  weight  with  her;  and  again 
the  hopes  of  victory  revived  in  his  mind.  Should  the  principle,  to 
which  she  so  firmly  adhered,  outweigh  all  these  considerations,  he 
thouglit  she  would  forfeit  by  her  obstinacy  all  claim  to  his  forbear- 
ance, and  his  heart  fluttered  at  tlie  idea  that  she  had  nov,-  no  pro* 
lector  from  his  power.  He  resolved  to  haunt,  to  watch  her,  to  lose 
no  opportunity  of  pressing  his  suit.  Wherever  she  went,  he  was 
determined  to  follow  ;  "  and  surely,"  thought  he,  •*  she  must 
have  some  moments  of  weakness,  she  cannot  be  always  on  her 
guard." 

For  some  days  he  continued  to  make  regular  vi.sits  at  her  lodg- 
ings, though  he  had  no  hope  of  seeing  her  till  after  Montreville 
was  consigned  to  the  dust;  and  he  rejoiced  that  the  customary 
seclusion  was  likely  to  retard  her  knowledge  of  his  misconduct. 
To  make  inquiries  after  the  health  and  spirits,  of  Laura,  was  the 
ostensible,  but  not  the  only  motive  of  his  visits.  He  wished  to  dis- 
cover all  that  was  known  to  the  people  of  the  house  of  her  present 
situation  and  future  plans.  On  the  latter  subject  they  could  not 
afford  him  even  the  slightest  information,  for  Laura  had  never 
di'opped  a  hint  of  her  intentions.  But  he  received  such  accounts 
of  her  pecuniary  distresses,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  she  sup- 
ported them,  as  at  once  increased  Ins  reverence  for  her  character, 
and  his  hopes  that  she  would  take  refuge  from  her  wants  in  the 
affluence  which  he  offered  her. 

From  Fanny,  who  officiated  as  porter,  and  who  almost  adored 
Laura,  he  received  most  of  his  intelligence  ;  and,  while  he  listened 
to  instances  of  the  fortitude,  the  piety,  the  tenderness,  the  resig- 
nation of  his  beloved,  a  love  of  virtue,  sincere  though  transient, 
would  croj>s  his  soul;  he  would  look  back  with  abhorrence  on  a 
crime  which  had  hazarded  the  loss  of  such  a  treasure  ;  and  vow, 
that,  were  he  once  possessed  of  Laura,  his  life  should  be  a  copy  of 
her  worth.  But  Hargr.ive's  vows  deceived  him  ;  for  he  loved  the 
virtues  only  that  were  associated  with  an  object  of  pleasure,  he  ab- 
horred the  vices  only  which  threatened  him  with  pain. 

On  the  day  succeedmg  the  funeral,  he  ventured  on  an  attempt  to 
see  Laura,  and  sent  her  a  message,  begging  permission  to  wait 
upon  her;  but  was  answered  that  she  received  no  visitors.  He 
then  wrote  her  a  letter  full  of  the  sentiments  which  she  inspired. 
He  expressed  his  s}Tnpathy  with  her  misfortimes,  and  fervently 
besought  her  to  accept  of  a  protect6r  who  would  outdo  in  tender- 
ness the  one  whonri  she  had  lost.  He  implored  her  to  add  l';e 
strongest  incentive  to  the  course  of  virtue,  in  which,  if  she  would 
listen  to  his  req.ue.st,  he  solemnly  promised  to  persevere.  He  again 
insinuated  that  she  must  speedily  decide  ;  that,  if  her  decision 
were  unfavourable,  he  might  be  driven  to  seekforgetfuluess  amidst 
xninous  dissipation  •   ■iPd  ho  adinred  her,  by  th«  wishes  of  her  dead 


160 

father,  a  claim  winch  he  thought  would  with  her  be  irresistible,  to 
consent  to  dispense  with  his  further  probation.  He  said  he  would 
visit  lier  late  in  the  following"  forenoon,  in  the  hope  of  receiving  his 
answer  from  her  own  lips  ;  and  concluded  by  telling  her,  that,  lest 
the  late  unfortimate  event  had  occasioned  her  any  temporary  diffi- 
culties, he  begged  to  be  considered  as  her  banker,  and  enclosed  a 
bill  for  a  hundred  pounds. 

He  gave  this  letter  to  Fanny,  with  injunctions  to  deliver  it  imme- 
diately, and  then  went  to  inquire  for  Lord  Bellamer,  whom  it  gave 
him  real  pleasure  to  find  pronounced  out  of  danger.  Lady  Bella- 
mer, too,  had  ceased  to  reproach  and  molest  him.  She  had  reco- 
vered from  her  indisposition,  and  removed  to  the  house  of  a  rela- 
tion, who  humanely  offered  to  receive  her.  His  hopes  were  strong 
oftiie  effect  of  his  letter;  and  he  passed  the  evening  in  greater 
comfort  than  had  lately  fallen  to  his  share.  Often  did  he  repeat  to 
himself  that  Laura  must  accede  to  his  proposals.  What  other 
course  could  she  pursue  ? — Would  her  spirit  allow  her  to  become 
a  burden  on  the  scanty  income  of  her  friend  Mrs.  Douglas  ? — Would 
she  venture  to  pursue,  as  a  profession,  the  art  in  which  she  so  ~ 
greatly  excelled  ? — Would  she  return  to  live  alone  at  Glenalbert  ? 
This  last  appeared  the  most  probable  to  Hargrave,  because  the 
most  desirable.  Alone,  without  any  companion  whose  frozen 
counsel  would  counteract  the  softness  o?  her  heart,  in  a  romantic 
solitude,  watched  as  he  would  watch,  importuned  as  he  would  im- 
portune her,  strange  if  no  advantage  could  be  wrested  from  her 
affection  or  her  prudence,  her  interest  or  her  fears  !  To  possess 
Laura  was  the  first  wish  of  his  soul;  and  he  was  not  very  fastidious 
as  to  the  means  of  its  gratification  :  for  even  the  love  of  a  libertine 
is  selfish.  He  was  perfectly  sincere  in  his  honourable  proposals  to 
Laura.  He  might  have  been  less  so  had  any  others  possessed  a 
t>hance  of  success. 

He  rose  early  the  next  morning,  and  impatiently  looked  for  the 
hour  which  he  had  appointed  for  his  visit.  He  wished  tliat  he  had 
fixed  on  an  earlier  one,  took  up  a  book  to  beguile  tlie  minutes, 
threw  it  down  again,  looked  a  hundred  times  athiswatch,  ordered 
his  carriage  to  the  door  two  hours  before  it  was  wanted,  feared  to 
go  too  soon,  lest  Laura  should  refuse  to  see  him,  and  yet  was  at 
her  lodgings  long  before  his  appointment.  He  inquired  for  her, 
and  was'  answered,  that  she  had  discharged  her  lodgings,  and  was 
gone.  "  Gone  !  Whither  ?" — Fanny  did  not  know ;  Miss  Montre- 
ville  had  been  busy  all  the  evening  before  in  preparing  for  her  re- 
moval, and  had  left  the  liouse  early  that  morning.  "  And  did  she 
leave  no  address  where  »he  might  be  found  ?"  "  I  heard  her  tell 
the  coachman,'*  said  Fanny,  "  to  stop  at  the  end  of  Grosvenor 
Street,  and  she  would  direct  him  where  she  chose  to  be  set  down. 
But  I  believe  she  has  left  a  letter  for  you.  Sir."  "  Fool !"  cried, 
Hargrave,  "  why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  sooner— give  it  me  in- 
'stantly." 

He  imjjatientlv  followed  the  girl  to  the  parlour  which  had  been 
:Montrcville'3.     The  letter  lay  oi)  the  table.    It  contained  only  his 


161 

bill,  returned  with  Miss  Montreville's  compliments  and  tlj&i^.lcs. 
He  twisted  the  card  into  atoms,  aj)d  cursed  with  all  his  soul  tlie 
in^atitude  and  cold  prudence  of  the  writer.  He  swore  that  if  slie 
wei-e  on  earth  he  would  find  her  ;  and  vowed  that  he  would  make 
ker  repent  of  the  vexation  which  he  said  she  had  always  taken  a 
savage  dehght  in  heaping"  upon  him. 

Restless,  and  yet  unwilling-  to  be  gone,  he  next  wandered  into 
Laura's  painting-room,  as  if  hoping  in  her  once  favouriie  liaunt  to 
find  traces  of  her  flight.  He  had  never  entered  it  since  the  day 
When  the  discovery  of  Ue  Courcy's  portrait  had  roused  his  sudden 
frenzy.  Association  brought  back  the  same  train  of  thought.  He 
imagined  that  Laura,  while  she  concealed  herself  from  him,  had 
taken  refuge  with  the  De  Courcys  ;  and  all  his  jealousy  returned. 
After,  according  to  custom,  acting  tlie  ma.lman  for  a  while,  he  be- 
gan as  usual  to  recover  his  senses.  He  knew  he  could  easily  dis- 
cover whether  Miss  Montreville  was  at  Norwood,  by  vvriting  to  a 
friend  wlio  lived  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  he  was  going  home  to 
execute  this  design,  when,  passing  through  the  lobby,  he  was  met 
by  the  landlady.  He  stopped  to  renew  his  inquiries  whether  any 
thing  was  known,  or  guessed  of  Laura's  retreat.  But  Mrs.  Stubbs 
could  give  him  no  more  information  on  the  subject  than  her  maid, 
and  she  was  infinitely  more  surprised  at  his  question  than  Fanny 
had  been  :  for,  having  made  certain  observations  which  convinced 
her  that  Hargrave's  visits  were  in  the  character  of  a  lover,  she  had 
charitably  concluded,  and  actually  asserted,  that  Laura  had  accept- 
ed of  his  protection. 

Hargrave  next  inquired  whether  Laura  had  any  visitors  but 
himself?  "  No  living  creature, '  was  the  reply  '*  Could  Mrs. 
Stubbs  form  no  conjectiu-e  whither  she  was  gone  V*  **  None  in  the 
world,"  answered  Mrs.  Stubbs  ;  "  only  tliis  I  know,  itcasi't  be  very 
far  off— for  to  my  certain  knowledge,  she  had  only  seven  shillings 
in  her  pocket,  and  that  could  not  carry  her  far,  as  "5  told  the  gen- 
tleman who  was  here  this  morning."  "  What  gentleman,"  cried 
Hargrave.  "One  Mr.  De  Courcy,  Sir,  that  used  to  call  for  her; 
but  he  has  not  been  here  these  six  weeks  before  ;  and  he  seemed 
quite  astounded  as  well  as  yourself.  Sir."  Hargrave  then  ques- 
tioned her  so  closely  concerning  De  Courcy's  words  and  looks,  as 
to  convince  himself  that  his  rival  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  mo- 
tions of  the  fugitive.  In  this  belief  he  returned  home,  uncertain 
what  measures  he  should  pursue,  but  determined  not  to  rest  till  he 
had  found  Laura. 

When  De  Courcy  quitted  Laura,  he  had  no  intention  of  seeing 
her  again  till  his  circumstances  should  enable  him  to  offer  her  his 
hand.  No  sacrifice  could  have  cost  him  more  pain;  but  justice 
and  filial  duty  did  not  permit  him  to  hesitate.  Neither  did  he 
think  himself  entitled  to  sadden  With  a  face  of  care  his  domestic 
circle,  nor  to  make  his  mother  and  sister  pay  dear  for  their  com- 
forts,  by  shewing  that  the}'  were  purchased  at  the  expense  of  his 
peace.  Nor  did  he  languidly  resign  to  idle  love  dreams  the  hours 
whioli  an  immortal  spirit  claimed  for  its  improtement,  and  which 
o2 


162 

tbe  social  tie  bound  him  to  enliven  and  cheer.  Butto  appear  what  he 
was  not,  to  introduce  constraint  and  dissimulation  into  tlie  sacred 
privacies  of  home,  never  occurred  to  De  Courcy.  He  therefore 
strove  not  to  seem  cheerful  but  to  be  so.  He  returned  to  his  former 
studies,  and  even  i)rosecuted  them  with  alacrity,  for  he  knew  that 
Laura  respected  a  cultivated  mind.  His  faults,  he  was  if  possible 
more  than  ever  studious  to  coi-rect,  for  Laura  loved  virtue.  And 
when  occasion  for  a  kind,  considerate  or  self-denying*  action  pre- 
sented itself,  he  eagerly  seized  it,  saying-  in  his  heart,  "  this  is 
like  Laura." 

Sometimes  the  fear  that  he  might  be  forgotten,  forced  from 
him  the  bitterest  sigh  that  he  had  ever  breathed  :  but  he  endea- 
voured to  comfort  himself  with  the  belief  that  she  would  soon  be 
screened  from  the  gaze  of  admiration,  and  that  her  reg-ard  for  him, 
thougli  yet  in  its  infancy,  would  be  sufficient  to  secure  her  from 
other  impressions  Of  the  reality  of  this  regard  he  did  not  allow 
himself  to  doubt,  or  if  he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  he  called  to 
mind  the  picture,  Laura's  concealn:ent  of  it,  her  confusion  at  hij» 
attempt  to  examine  it,  and  he  no  longer  doubted. 

The  arrival  of  the  picture  itself  might  have  explained  all  that 
related  to  it,  hael  De  Gourcy  chosen  to  have  it  so  explained.  But 
he  turned  his  eye  from  the  unpleasing  sight,  and  sheltered  his 
hopes  by  a  hundred  treasured  instances  of  love  which  had  scarce- 
ly any  existence  but  in  his  fancy. 

His  efforts  to  be  cheerful  were  however  less  successful,  after 
Laura,  in  a  few  melancholy  lines,  informed  Miss  De  Courcy  that 
Montreville's  increased  illness  made  their  return  to  Scotland  more 
uncertain  than  ever.  He  imagined  his  dear  Laura  the  solitary  at- 
tendant of  a  sick-bed  ;  no  kind  voice  to  comfort,  no  friendly'face 
to  cheer  her;  perhaps  in  poverty,  that  poverty  increased  too  byj 
the  artifice  which  he  had  used  to  lessen  it.  He  grew  anxious,  J 
comfortless,  and  at  length  really  miserable.  Every  day  the  arri-^ 
val  of  the  letters  was  looked  for  with  extreme  solicitude  in  hope 
of  more  cheering  news  ;  but  every  day  brought  disappointment, 
for  Laura  \vi'ote  no  more.  His  mother  shared  in  his  anxiety,  and 
increased  it  by  expressing  her  own.  She  feared  that  Miss  M ou- 
tre ville  wuH  ill,  and  unable  to  write  ;  and  the  image  of  Laura  among 
strangers,  sick iohd  in  poverty,  obliteiated  .Montague's  prudent  re- 
solutions of  trusting  liiniseU  no  more  in  the  presence  of  his  be- 
loved. He  set  outior  London,  and  arrived  at  the  door  of  Laura's 
lodgings  about  an  hour  after  ^he  had  quitted  them. 

Mrs.  Stubbs,  of  whom  he  made  personal  inquiries,  was  abun- 
dantly communicative.  She  gave  him,  as  far  as  it  was  known  to] 
her,  a  full  history  of  Laura's  adventujes  since  he  had  seen  her 
and,  where  she  was  deficient  in  facts,  supplied  the  blank  by  con«^ 
jecture.  With  emotion  indescribable  he  listened  to  a  coarse  ac-'| 
count  of  Miss  Montreville's  wants  and  labours.  "  How  could  you; 
suffer  all  this  ?"  cried  he,  indignantly,  when  he  was  able  to  speak. 
"Times  are  hard,  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Stubbs,  the  jolly  purple 
deepening  in  her  cheeks.     "  Besides,  Miss  Montreville  had  always 


1G3 

such  aa  air  with  her,  that  I  could  not  for  my  very  heart  have  asked 
her  to  take  pot-luck  with  us." 

The  colour  faded  from  De  Courcy's  face  as  Mrs.  Stubbs  pro-- 
ceeded  to  relate  the  copstant  visits  of  Hargrave.  "  IMI  warrant," 
said  she,  growing  familiar  as  she  perceived  that  she  excited  in- 
terest, "  I'll  warrant  he  did  not  come  here  so  often  for  nothing. 
People  must  have  ears,  and  use  them  too  ;  and  I  heard  him  myself 
swearing  to  her  one  day,  that  he  loved  her  better  than  his  life,  or 
something  to  that  purpose  ;  and  that,  if  she  would  live  with  him, 
he  would  make  her  dreams  pleasant,  or  some  such  stuff  as  that ; 
and  now,  as  sure  as  can  be,  she  has  taken  him  at  his  word,  and 
gone  to  him." 

"  Peace,  woman  !"  cried  De  Courcy,  in  a  tone  which  he  had  never 
used  to  any  of  the  sex,  "how  dare  you — ?" 

Mrs.  Stubbs,  who  had  all  the  want  of  nerve  which  characterizes 
vulgar  arrogance,  instantly  shrunk  into  her  shell.  "  No  offence, 
Sir,"  said  she.  "  Its  all  mere  guess-work  with  me  ;  only  she  does 
not  know  a  creature  in  London,  and  she  had  nothing  to  carry  her 
out  of  it;  for  she  had  just  seven  shillings  in  her  pocket.  I  gave 
her  seventeen  and  sixpence  of  change  this  morning,  and  she  gave 
half-a-guinea  of  that  to  the  kitchen-maid.  Now  it  stands  to  rea- 
son, she  would  not  have  been  so  ready  parting  with  her  money  if 
she  had  not  known  where  more  was  to  be  had  " 

De  Courcy,  shocked  and  disgusted,  turned  from  her  in  displea- 
svu-e  ;  and  finding  that  nothing  was  to  be  learnt  from  her  of  the 
place  of  Laura's  retreat,  betook  himself  to  the  print-shop,  where 
he  remembered  that  he  had  first  procured  Miss  Montreville's  ad- 
dress. Mr.  VVilkins  declared  his  ignorance  on  the  subject  of 
Montague's  inquiries  ;  but,  seeing  the  look  of  disappointment  with 
which  De  Courcy  was  leaving  the  shop,  goodnaturedly  said,  **  I 
dare  say.  Sir,  if  you  wish  to  find  out  where  Miss  Montreville  lives, 
I  could  let  you  know  by  asking  Colonel  Hargrave.  He  comes  here 
sometimes  to  look  at  the  caricatures.  And,"  added  Mr.  Wilkins, 
winking  significantly,  *'  I  am  mistaken  if  they  are  not  very  well 
acquainted." 

De  Courcy's  heart  rose  to  his  mouth.  **  Perhaps  so,"  said  he, 
scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  said.  "  There  was  a  famous  scene 
between  them  here  about  three  weeks  ago,"  proceeded  the  print- 
seller,  anxious  to  justify  his  own  sagacity.  "  1  suppose  they  had 
not  met  for  awhile,  and  there  was  such  a  kissing  and  embracing"— 
•'  'Tis  false  !"  cried  De  Courcy,  lightning  flashing  from  his  eyes. 
**  Miss  Montreville  would  have  brooked  such  indignities  from  no 
man  on  earth."  "  Nay,"  said  Wilkins,  shrugging  up  his  shoul- 
ders, "  the  shop-lads  saw  it  as  well  as  I— she  fainted  away  in  his 
arms,  and  ht^  carried  her  into  the  back  room  there,  and  would 
not  suffer  one  of  us  to  come  near  iier  ;  and  Mr.  Finch  there  saw 
him  down  on  his  knees  to  her."  "  Cease  your  vile  slanders," 
cried  Ue  Courcy,  half  distracted  with  grief  and  indignation,  "  I 
abhor — I  despise  them.  But  at  your  peril  dare  to  breathe  thero 
into  any  other  ear."     So  saying,  he  dsjted  from  the  shop,  and 


164 

reti«n»ed  to    his  hotel,   infinitely   more  wretched   than  ever  he 
had  been. 

The  happy  droatn  was  dispelled  that  painted  him  the  master  of 
Laiiia's  affections.  Anotlier  possessed  her  love  ;  and  how  visible, 
how  indelicately  g;laring,  must  be  the  preference  that  was  apparent 
to  evf.ty  vulg-ar  eye  !  But,  bitter  as  was  his  disappointment,  and 
Cruel  tlie  pang-s  of  jealousy,  they  v/ere  ease  compared  to  the  tor- 
ture with  which  he  adniilted  a  thoug-ht  derog-atory  to  Laura's 
worth.  A  thousand  times  he  reproached  himself  for  suffering  the 
hints  and  conjectures  of  a  low-bred  woman  to  affect  his  mind  ; — a 
thousand  times  assured  himself,^that  no  poverty,  no  difficulties, 
v/C'uld  overpower  the  integrity  of  Laura.  "  Yet  Hargi-ave  is  a 
iibertint*,"  said  he,  "  and  if  she  can  love  a  libertine,  how  have  I 
been  deceived  in  her  !  No  !  it  cannot  be  ! — She  is  all  truth — all 
purity.  It  is  sjie  that  is  deceived.  He  lias  imposed  upon  her  by 
a  false  show  of  virtue,  and  misery  awaits  her  detection  of  his  de- 
ceit, bhe  gone  to  him  !  I  will  never  believe  it.  Libertine  as  he 
is,  he  dared  not  to  thiiik  of  it.  Extremity  of  want — iin.ger- 
ing-  famine  would  not  degrade  her  to  this," — and  tears  filled 
De  Courcy's  manly  eyes  at  the  thought  that  Laura  was  indeed 
in  want. 

He  had  no  direct  means  of  supplying-  her  necessities  ;  bdt  he 
hoped  that  she  might  uiquire  at  her  former  abode  for  any  letters 
that  might  chance  to  be  left  for  her,  and  that  she  might  thus  re- 
ceive any  packet  which  he  addressed  to  her.  "  She  shall  never 
be  humbled,"  said  he  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "by  knowing  that  she 
owes  this  trifle  to  an  indifferent,  forgotten  stranger  ;,'*  and  inclo- 
sing fifty  pounds  in  a  blank  cover,  he  put  both  into  an  envelope  to 
Mrs.  Stubbs,  in  which  he  informed  her,  that  if  she  could  find  no 
means  of  conveying  the  packet  to  Miss  Montreville,  the  anony- 
mous writer  would  claim  it  again  at  some  future  time,  on  descri- 
bing its  contents. 

Before  dispatching  the  letter,  however,  he  resolved  on  making 
an  .attempt  to  discover  whether  Hargrave  was  acquainted  with 
Laura's  retreat.  He  shrunk  from  meeting  his  rival.  His  blood 
ran  cold  as  he  pictured  to  his  fancy  the  exulting  voice,  tlie  trium- 
phant glance  which  would  announce  the  master  of  Laura's  fate. 
But  any  thing  was  preferable  to  his  present  suspense ;  and  the 
hope  that  he  might  yet  be  useful  to  LaUra,  formed  an  incitement 
still  more  powerful.  *'  Let  me  but  find  her,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will 
yet  wrest  her  from  destruction.  If  she  is  deceived,  I  will  warn  ; 
if  she  is  oppressed,  I  will  protect  her." 

He  imagined  that  he  shoidd  probably  find  Hargrave  at  the  house 
of  his  uncle.  Lord  Lincourt,  and  hastened  thither  to  seek  him  ; 
but  foimd  the  house  occupied  only  by  servants,  who  were  igno- 
rant of  the  colonel's  address.  De  Courcy  knew  none  of  Hargrave's 
places  of  resort.  The  habits  and  acquaintance  of  each  lay  in  a 
different  line.  No  means  therefore  of  discovering  him  occurred 
tcr  Montague,  except  that  of  inquiring  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Stubbs, 


165 

where  he  thought  it  probable  that  the  place  of  Hargrave*s  resi- 
dence might  be  known.     Thither,  then,  he  next  bent  his  course. 

The  door  was  opened  to  him  by  Fanny  ;  who  replied  to  his  ques- 
tion, that  none  of  the  family  knew  where  Col.  Hargrave  lived,  and 
lamented  that  De  Courcy  had  not  come  a  little  earlier,  saying  that 
the  Colonel  had  been  gone  not  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  De 
Courcy  was  turning  disappointed  away  ;  when  Fanny,  stopping 
him,  said  with  a  curtsey  and  a  half-whisper,  •*  Sir,  an't  please  you, 
my  mistress  was  all  wrong  about  Miss  Montrevillt^for  the  Colo- 
nel knows  no  more  about  her  than  I  do."  "  Indeed  !"  said  De 
Courcy,  all  attention.  "  Yes,  indeed.  Sir — when  I  told  him  she 
was  away  he  was  quite  amazed,  and  in  such  a  passion  !  So  then, 
I  thought  I  would  give  him  the  letter. — "  What  letter  ?"  cried  De 
Courcy,  the  glow  of  animation  fading  in  his  face.  "  A  letter  that 
Miss  Montreville  left  for  him.  Sir,  but  when  he  got  it  he  was  ten 
times  angrier  than  before,  and  swore  at  her  for  riot  letting  him 
knowiwhere  she  was  going.  So  t  thought,  Sir,  I  w«uld  make  bold 
to  tell  you.  Sir,  as  Mistress  had  been  speaking  her  mind,  Sir  ;  for 
it*s  a  sad  thing  to  have  one's  character  taken  away ;  and  Miss 
Montreville,  I  am  sure,  wouldn't  do  hurt  to  nobody." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  a  very  good  girl,"  said  De  Courcy,  giving 
her,  with  a  guinea,  a  very  hearty  squeeze  of  the  hand.  He  made 
her  repeat  the  particulars  of  Hargrave's  violent  behaviour  ;  and 
satisfied  from  them  that  his  rival  liad  no  share  in  Lira's  disap- 
pearance, he  returned  to  his  hotel,  his  heart  HghtCTed  of  half  the 
Heaviest  load  that  ever  it  had  borne. 

Still,  however,  enough  remained  to  exclude  for  a  time  all  quiet 
from  his  breast.  He  could  not  doubt  that  Laura's  affections  were 
Hargrave's.  She  had  given  proof  of  it  palpable  to  the  most  com- 
mon observer  ;  and  resentment  mingled  with  his  grief  while  he 
thought,  that  to  his  fervent  respectful  love,  she  preferred  the  un- 
distinguishing  passion  of  a  libertine.  "  All  women  are  alike,"  said 
he,  "  the  slaves  of  mere  outward  show :" — An  observation  for 
which  the  world  was  probably  first  indebted  to  circumstances 
somewhat  like  De  Courcy's 

Restless  and  uncomfortable,  without  any  hope  of  finding  Laura, 
he  would  now  have  left  London  without  an  hour's  delay.  But^ 
though  he  forgot  his  own  fatigues,  he  was  not  unmindful  of  those 
of  the  gray-haired  domestic  who  attended  him.  He  therefore  de- 
ferred his  journey  to  the  following  morning  ;  and  then  set  out  on 
his  return  to  Norwood,  more  depressed  and  wretched  than  he  had 
quitted  it. 


END  or  THE  FraST  VOLUME. 


^ 

^ 


^ 

^ 


• 

> 

^ 

t. 

^ 


y^ 


y 


o. 


r- 


SELF-CONTRaL. 


A  NOVEL. 


His  'war&re  is  within.— There  tmfatigued 
His  fervent  spirit  labours.— There  he  fights,        * 
And  there  obtains  fresh  triumphs  o'er  himself, 
And  never-withering  wreaths,  compared  with  which 
The  laurels  that  a  Caesar  reaps  are  weeds. 

Cotvper 


VOLUME   II. 


jsTEfr-roRK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  DAVID  LONGWCHRTH, 

A.T  THE  SHAKSPEARE  GALLERY. 

C.  S.  Van  Winkle,  Printer. 

1811. 


Jr:  i/- 


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tiT^'^'^ 


t 


-.  y 


V 


v.„.-V 


v\^.y^^'^ 


SELF-CONTROL. 


(CHAPTER  XIX. 

ALL  was  yet  dark  and  still,  wheit  Laura,  like  some  unearthly 
being,  stood  by  the  bed  where  Fanny  slept.  The  light^ which  she 
bore  in  her  wasted  hand,  shewed  faintly  the  majestic  loim,  dark- 
ened by  its  mourning'  garments ;  and  slied  a  dreary  jrlcam  upon 
tearless  eyes,  and  a  face  whence  all  the  hues  of  life  were  fled. 
She  made  a  sign  for  Fanny  to  rise  ;  and,  awe-struck  by  the  calm 
of  unutterable  grief,  Fanny  arose,  and  in  silence  followed  her. 
They  entered  the  chamber  of  death.  With  noiseless  steps  Laura 
approached  Uie  body,  and  softly  drew  back  Uie  covering.  She 
toecKoned  Fanny  towards  her.  The  girl  comprehended  that  her 
aid  was  wanted  in  performing  the  last  duties  to  Alontreville  ;  and, 
shrhiking  with  superstitious  fear,  said,  in  alow  trcznulous  wliis- 
per,  *'  I  dare  not  touch  the  dead."  Laura  answered  not ;'  but  rai- 
sir.g  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  as  if  there  to  seek  assistance  in  her 
mournfid  task,  she  gently  pressed  her  hand  upon  the  half-closed 
eves  that  had  so  often  beamed  fondness  on  her.  Unaided,  and  in 
silence,  slie  did  the  last  offices  of  love.  Slie  shed  no  tears.  She 
uttered  no  lamentation.  The  dread  stillness  was  broken  (mly  by 
the  groans  that  burst  at  times  from  her  heavy  heart,  and  the  more 
continued  sobs  of  her  attendant,  who  vented  in  tears  lierfear,  her 
pity,  and  her  admiration. 

\Vhen  the  sad  work  was  finished,  Laura,  still  speechless,  mo- 
tioned to  the  servant  to  retire.  In  horror  at  the  thoughts  of  leaving 
Laura  alone  with  the  dead,  yet  fearing  to  raise  her  voice,  the  girl 
respectfully  grasped  her  mistress's  gown,  and,  in  a  low  but  earn- 
est  whisper,  besought  her  to  leave  this  dismal  place,  and  to  go  to 
her  own  chamber.  Scarcely  sensible  pf  her  meaning,  Laura  suf- 
fered her  to  draw  her  away;  but  when  the  door  closed  upon  all 
that  remained  of  her  father,  she  shuddered  convulsively,  and  strug- 
gled to  return.  Fanny,  however,  gathered  courage  to  lead  her'to 
her  own  apartment.  There  she  threw  herself  prostrate  on  the 
ground ;  a  flood  of  tears  came  to  relieve  her  oppressed  heart,  and 
her  recovered  utterance  broke  forth  hi  »i\  act  of  resignation.    She 


continued  for  some  hours  to  g^ive  vent  to  her  sorrow—a  sorrow  uu-  \ 
;•  Hayed  by  any  less  painful  feeling-,  save  those  of  devotion.  Shei 
had  lost  the  affectionate  guide  of  ier  youth,  the  fond  parent, 
whose  love  for  her  had  brought  him  untimely  to  the  grave  ;  and, 
in  the  anguish  of  the  thouglit  that  she  should  watch  his  smile  and 
hear  liis  voice  no  more,  she  scarcely  remembered  that  he  had  left 
her  to  want  and  loneliness. 

The  morning  was  far  advanced,  when  her  sorrows  were  broken 
in  upon  by  her  landlady,  who  came  to  ask  her  directions  in  regard 
to  the  funeral.  Laura  had  been  unable  to  bend  her  thoughts  to  the 
consideration  of  this  subject;  and  she  answered  only  by  her  tears. 
In  vain  did  Mrs.  Stubbs  repeat  that  "  it  was  a  folly  to  take  on  so,'»  ''■ 
—"that  we  must  all  die  ;"—"  and  that  as  everything  has  two 
handles,  Laura  might  comfort  herself  that  she  should  now  have 
but  one  mouth  to  feed."  Laur^  seemed  obstinate  in  her  grief,  and 
at  last  Mrs.  Stubbs  declared  that  whether  she  would  hear  reason 
or  not,  something  must  without  delay  be  settled  about  the  fune- 
ral ;  as  for  her  part  she  could  not  order  things  without  knowing 
how  they  were  to  be  paid  for.  Laura,  puttuig  her  hand  to  her 
foreheatl,  complained  that  her  head  felt  confused,  and,  mildly  beg- 
ging  her  persecutor  to  have  a  little  patience  with  her,  promised, 
if  she  might  be  left  alone  for  the  present,  to  return  to  the  conver- 
sation in  half  an  hour. 

Accordingly,  soon  after  the  time  appointed,  the  landlady  was 
surprised  to  see  Laura  enter  the  parlour,  her  cheek  indeed  colour- 
less and  her  eyes  swelled  with  weeping,  but  her  manner  perfectly 
calm  and  collected.  "  Here  are  my  father's  watch  and  sceas," 
said  she,  presenting  them.  "  They  may  be  disposed  of  That 
cannot  wound  him  now," — and  she  turned  away  her  head,  and 
drew  her  hand  across  her  eyes.  "  Have  the  goodness,"  continu- 
ed she,  "  to  order  what  is  necessary,  for  I  am  a  stranger,  without 
any  friend."  Mrs.  Stubbs,  examining  the  watch,  declared  her 
opinion  that  the  sale  of  it  would  produce  very  little.  "  Let  every 
thing  be  plain,  but  decent,"  said  Laura,  "  and  when  I  am  able  f 
will  work  day  and  night  till  all  is  paid,"  "  I  doubt.  Miss,"  answer- 
ed Mrs.  Stubbs,  "  it  will  be  long  before  your  work  will  pay  for 
much ;  besides  you  will  be  in  my  debt  for  a  week's  lodgings — we 
always  charge  a  week  extra  when  there  is  a  death  in  the  house."  j 
"  Tell  me  what  you  would  have  me  to  do,  and  I  will  do  it,"  said  J 
the  unfortunate  Laura,  wholly  unable  to  contend  with  her  hard-  ^ 
hearted  companion.  "Why,  Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Stubbs,  "  there  is 
your  beautiful  rose-wood  work-table  and  the  ftiot-stools,  and  your 
fine  ivory  work-box  that  Mr.  De  Courcy  sent  here  before  you 
came  ;  if  you  choose  to  dispose  of  them,  1  will  take  them  off  your 
Lands,"  "  Take  them,"  said  Laura,  •*  I  knew  not  tliat  they  were 
mine."  Mrs.  Stubbs  then  conscientiously  ottered  to  give  a  fourth 
part  of  the  sum  which  these  toys  had  costDe  Courcy  three  months 
before,  an  offer  which  Laura  instantly  accepted ;  and  the  landlady 
having  settled  this  business  much  to  her  own  satisfaction,  cheer- 
fully undertook  to  arrange  the  obsequies  of  poor  Montreville. 


Tliough  the  tragical  scenes  of  tlie  night  had  left  Laura  no  leisure 
to  dwell  upon  her  fears  for  Hargravc,  it  was  not  without  thank- 
fulness that  she  heard  of  his  safety  and  restored  composure.  Her 
mind  was  at  first  too  mudi  occupied  by  her  recent  loss,  to  attempt 
accounting  for  his  extravagant  behaviour  ;  and,  after  tlie  first  pa- 
roxysms of  her  sorrow  were  past,  she  retained  but  an  imperfect 
recollection  of  his  late  conversation  with  her.  She  merely  remem- 
bered his  seeming  distraction  and  threatened  suicide ;  and  only 
bewildered  herself  by  her  endeavours  to  unravel  his  mysterious 
conduct.  Sometimes  a  suspicion  not  very  remote  from  truth 
would  dart  into  her  mind  ;  but  she  quickly  banished  it,  as  an 
instance  of  the  causeless  fears  that  are  apt  to  infest  llie  hearts  of 
the  unfortunate. 

An  innate  delicacy,  which,  in  some  degree,  supplied  to  Laura 
the  want  of  experience,  made  her  feel  an  impropriety  in  tlie  daily 
visits  which  she  was  informed  that  Hargrave  made  at  her  lodg- 
ings. She  was  aware  that  they  might  be  liable  to  misrepresenta- 
tion, even  though  she  should  persist  in  her  refusal  to  see  him  ; 
and  this  consideration  appeared  to  add  to  the  necessity  already 
so  urgent,  for  resolving  on  some  immediate  plan  for  her  future 
course  of  life.  But  the  future  offered  to  Laura  no  attractive  pros- 
pect. Wherever  she  turned,  all  seemed  dark  and  unpromising. 
bl»e  feared  not  to  labour  for  her  subsistence ;  no  narrow  pride  ibr- 
bade  her  the  use  of  any  honourable  means  of  independence.  But 
her  personal  charms  were  such  as  no  degree  of  humility  couid 
screen  from  the  knowledge  of  their  possessor,  and  she  was  sensi- 
ble how  much  this  dangerous  distinction  increased  the  disqualifi- 
cations of  her  sex  and  age  for  the  character  of  an  artist.  As  an 
artist,  she  must  be  exposed  to  the  intrusion  of  strangers  ;  to  pub- 
lic observation  if  successful ;  to  bnpitied  neglect  if  she  failed  in 
her  attempt  Besides,  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  living  alone 
and  unprotected,  in  the  human  chaos  that  surrounded  her.  All 
her  father's  dismal  forebodings  rose  to  her  remembrance ;  and 
she  almost  regarded  herself  as  one  who  would  be  noticed  only  as 
-a  mark  for  destruction,  beguiled  by  frauds  which  no  vigilance 
could  detect,  overwhelmed  by  power  lyhich  she  could  neither  re- 
sist nor  escape. 

Should  she  seek  in  solitude  a  refuge  from  the  destroyer,  and  re- 
turn to  mourn  at  her  deserted  Glenalbert  ;  the  stroke  had  left  it 
like  her  lonely  and  forlorn  ;  want  lurked  amidst  its  shades ;  for 
with  her  father  had  died  not  only  the  duties  and  the  joys  of  life, 
but  even  the  means  of  its  support.  Her  temporary  right  to  the 
few  acres  which  Montreville  had  farmed,  was  in  less  than  a  year 
to  expire  ;  and  she  knew  that,  after  discharging  the  claim  of  the 
landlord,  together  with  some  debts  which  the  long  illness  of 
Lady  Harriet  and  the  ill-fated  journey  had  obliged  Montreville 
to  contract,  httle  would  remain  from  the  sale  of  her  effects  at 
Glenalbert. 

Laura  was  sure,  that  the  benevolent  friend  of  her  youth,  the 
excellent  Mrs.  Douglas,  would  receive  her  with  open  arms — guide 

a2 


fter  Inexperience  with  a  mother's  counsel — comfort  her  sorfow^ 
with  a  mother's  love.  But  her  spirit  revolted  from  a  life  of  indo- 
lent dependence,  and  her  sense  of  justice  from  casting  a  useless 
burden  upon  an  income  too  confined  to  answer  claims  stronger 
and  more  natural  than  hers.  Mrs.  Douglas  was  herself  the  pre- 
ceptress of  her  children,  and  both  by  nature  and  education  amply 
qualified  for  the  momentous  task.  In  domestic  management,  her 
skill  and  activity  were  unrivalled.  Laura,  therefore,  saw  no  pos- 
sibility  of  repaying,  by  her  usefulness  in  any  department  of  the 
family,  the  protection  which  she  might  receive  ;  and  she  deter- 
mined that  nothing  but  the  last  necessity  should  induce  her  to  tax 
the  generosity  of  her  friend,  or  to  forego  the  honourable  inde- 
pendence of  those  who,  though  **  silver  or  gold  theiy  have  none," 
can  barter  for  the  comforts  they  enjoy  their  mi^ntal  treasures  or 
their  bodily  toil.  ■  ^ 

To  undertake  the  tuition  of  youth  occurred  to  her  as  the  most 
eligible  means  of  procuring  necessary  subsistence,  and  protection, 
more  necessary  still.  It  appeared  to  her  that,  as  a  member  of  any 
reputable  family,  she  should  be  sheltered  from  the  dangers  which 
her  father  had  most  taught  her  to  dread.  She  reviewed  her  ac- 
complishments, and  impartially  examined  her  ability  to  commu- 
nicate them  with  temper  and  perseverance.  Though  for  the  most 
part  attained  with  great  accuracy,  they  were  few  in  number,  and 
unobtrusive  in  kind.  She  read  aloud  with  uncommon  harmony 
and  grace.  She  spoke  and  wrote  with  fluency  and  precision.  She 
was  grammatically  acquainted  with  the  French  and  Latin  langua- 
ges, and  an  adept  in  llie  common  rules  of  arithmetic.  Her  pro- 
liciency  in  painting  has  been  already  noticed  ;  and  she  sung  with 
inimitable  sweetness  and  expression. 

But  though  expert  in  every  description  of  plain  needlework,  she 
was  an  utter  novice  in  the  manufacture  of  all  those  elegant 
nothings,  which  are  so  serviceable  to  fine  ladies  in  their  warfare 
against  time.  Though  she  moved  witli  unstudied  dignity  and 
peerless  grace,  we  are  obliged  to  confess,  that  the  seclusion  of  her 
native  village  had  doomed  her  to  ignorance  of  the  art  of  dancing, 
that  she  had  never  entered  ab;dl-room  less  capacious  than  the  ho- 
rizon, nor  performed  with  a  partner  more  illustrious  than  the 
schoolmaster's  daughter.  Her  knowledge;  of  music,  too,  was 
extremely  limited.  Lady  Harriet  had  indeed  tried  to  teach  her  to 
play  on  the  piano-forte;  but  the  attempt,  after  costing  Laura 
many  a  full  heart,  and  many  a  watery  eye,  was  relinquished  as 
vain.  Though  the  child  learnt  with  unusual  facility  whatever  was 
taught  her  by  her  father  or  Mrs.  Douglas,  and  though  she  was  al- 
ready remarkable  for  the  sweetness  with  which  she  warbled  her 
wood-notes  wild,  she  no  sooner  approached  the  piano-forte,  than 
an  invincible  stupidity  seemed  to  seize  on  all  her  faculties.  This 
was  the  more  mortifying,  as  it  was  the  only  one  of  her  ladyship's 
accomplishments  which  she  ever  personally  attempted  to  commu- 
nicate to  her  daughter.  Lady  Harriet  was  astonished  at  her  fail- 
"ivv.    It  could  proceed,  she  thought,  from  nothing  but  obstinacy 


But  the  appropHate  remedy  for  obstinacy,  only  a^j^avated  the 
symptoms,  and,  after  all,  Laura  was  indebted  to  Colonel  Har- 
grave*s  tuition  for  so  much  skill  as  enabled  her  to  accompany  her 
own  sing^ing. 

Laura  had  more  than  once  felt  her  deficiency  in  these  fashion- 
able arts,  on  seeing  them  exhib'ten  by  yoiinii^  ladies,  who,  to  use 
their  own  expression,  had  returned  from  ^^i/sAm^-  themselves  at  a 
boardingf-school,  and  she  feared  that  this  hh.nk  in  her  education 
might  prove  a  fatal  bar  to  her  being  employed  as  a  governess. 
But  another  and  a  greater  obstacle  lay  before  her — she  was  utter- 
ly unknown.  The  only  patrons  whose  recommendation  she  could 
command  were  distant  and  obscure  ;  and  what  mother  would  trust 
the  minds  and  the  manners  of  hei  children  to  the  formation  of  a 
stranger  ?  Shefcicw  not  the  ostrich-like  daring  of  fashionable  mo- 
thers. This  latter  objection  seemed  equally  hostile  to  her  being 
received  in  quiUty  of  companion  by  those  wlm  might  be  inclined 
to  exchange  subsistence  and  protection  for  relief  from  soli- 
tude ;  and  Laura,  almost  despairing,  knew  not  whither  to  turn 
her  eye. 

One  path  mdeed  invited  her  steps,  a  path  bright  with  visions  of 
rapture  warm  with  the  sunshine  of  love  and  pleasure  ;  but  the 
flaming  sword  of  Heaven  guarded  the  entrance  ;  and  as  often  as 
her  thoughts  reverted  that  way,  the  struggle  was  renewed  which 
forces  the  choice  from  the  pleasing  to  the  right.  No  frequency  of 
return  rendered  this  struggle  less  painful.  Laura's  prudence  had 
slept,  when  a  little  vigilance  might  have  saved  her  many  an  after 
pang;  and  she  had  long  paid,  was  still  long  to  pay,  the  forfeit  of 
neglecting  that  wisdom  which  would  guard  "  with  all  dilligence" 
the  first  beginnings  of  even  the  most  innocent  passions.  Had  she 
curbed  the  mfant-strengthof  an  attachment  which,  though  it  fail- 
ed to  warp  her  integrity,  had  so  deeply  wounded  her  peace,  how- 
had  she  lessened  the  force  of  that  temptation,  which  lured  her 
from  the  rugged  ascent,  where  want  and  difficulty  were  to  be  her 
companions ;  which  enticed  her  to  the  flowery  bowers  of  pleasure 
ivitli  the  voice  and  with  the  smile  of  Hargrave  ! 

Yet  Laura  had  resisted  a  bribe  more  powerful  than  any  conside- 
ration merely  selfish  could  supply  ;  and  she  blushed  to  harbour  a 
thought  of  yielding  to  her  own  inclination  what  slie  had  refused 
to  a  parent'ia  wlants,  to  a  parent's  prayer.  Her  heart  filled  as  she 
called  to  mind  how  warmly  Montreville  had  seconded  the  wishes 
of  her  lover,  how  resolutely  she  had  withstood  his  will ;  and  it 
swelled  even  to  bursting  at  the  thou;;jht  that  the  vow  was  now  fa- 
tally made  void,  which  promised,  by  every  cndeaiment  of  filial 
love,  to  atone  for  this  first  act  of  disobedience.  "  i>earest,  kind- 
est of  friends,"  she  cried,  "  I  was  inflexible  to  thy  request  -  thy 
last  request!  and  shall  I  now  recede  ?  now,  when,  peihaps,  thou 
«iit  permitted  to  behold  and  to  approve  my  motive ;  perhaps  per- 
mitted to  watch  me  still — permitted  with  higher  power  to  guard, 
with  less  erring  wisdom  to  direct  me  !  And  Thou,  who,  in  match- 
less condescension,  refusest  not  to  be  called  father  of  tjie  father- 


8 

less — Thou,  who,  in  every  difficulty  canst  guide,  from  every  daii- 
ger  cmist  protect  thy  children,  let,  if  Thou  see  it  good,  the  heavens, 
which  are  thy  throne,  be  all  my  covering,  the  earth,  which  is  thy 
footstool,  be  all  my  bed  ;  but  sutler  me  not  to  wander  from  Thee, 
the  only  source  of  peace  and  joy,  to  seek  them  in  fountains  unital- 
lowed  and  forbidden." 

Religious  habits  and  sentiments  were  permanent  inmates  of 
Laura's  breast.  They  had  been  invited  and  cherished,  till,  like 
familiar  friends,  they  came  unsolicited  ;  and,  like  friends,  too, 
their  visits  were  most  frequent  in  adversity.  But  the  more  ardent 
emotions  of  piety  are,  alas !  transient  guests  with  us  all ;  and, 
sinking  from  the  flight  which  raised  her  for  a  time  above  the  sor- 
rows and  the  wants  of  earth,  Laura  was  again  forced  to  shrink 
from  the  gaunt  aspect  of  poverty,  again  to  turii  a  Wistful  eye  to- 
wards-a  haven  of  rest  on  this  side  the  grave. 

Young  as  she  was,  however,  she  had  long  been  a  vigilant  ob- 
server of  her  own  actions,  and  of  their  consequences  ;  and  the  re- 
sult was  an  immutable  conviction,  that  no  heartfelt  comfort  could, 
in  any  circumstances,  harbour  with  wilful  transgression.  As  wil- 
ful transgression,  she  considered  her  marriage  with  a  man  who.se 
principles  she  had  fatal  reason  to  di.strust.  As  a  rash  defiance  of 
unknown  d.onger ;  as  a  desperate  daring  of  temptations  wliose 
force  was  yet  untried,  as  a  desertion  of  those  arms  by  which  alone 
she  could  hope  for  victory  in  her  christian  combat,  Laura  consi- 
dered the  hazardous  enterpi-ize,  which,  trusting  to  the  reforma- 
tion of  a  libertine,  would  expose  her  to  his  example  and  his  au- 
thoiity,  his  provocations  and  his  associates.  Again  slie  solemnly 
renewed  her  resolution,  never,  by  wilfully  braving  temptation,  to 
forego  the  protection  of  him  wlio  can  dash  the  fulness  of  W^orldly 
prosperity  with  secret  bitterness,  or  gladden  with  joys  unspeakable 
the  dwelhng  visited  by  no  friend  but  llina,  cheered  by  no  comfort 
save  the  light  of  his  countenance. 

Hargrave's  letter  served  rather  to  fortify  the  resolution  whicJi  it 
was  in  tended  to  shake  ;  for  Laura  was  not  insensible  to  the  indeli- 
cacy which  did  not  scorn  to  owe  to  her  necessities  a  consent  which 
he  had  in  vain  tried  to  extort  from  her  affection.  Though  pleased 
with  his  liberality,  she  was  hurt  by  his  supposing  that  she  could 
have  so  far  forgotten  the  mortal  offence  which  he  had  oflfered  her, 
as  to  become  his  debtor  for  any  pecuniai'y  favour ;  Jind,  as  nothing 
could  be  further  from  her  intention  than  to  owe  any  obligation  to 
Colonel  U.irgrave,  she  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  return  tlte 
money  Wlien  she  had  sealed  the  card  in  which  she  inclosed  it, 
she  again  returned  to  the  contemplation  of  her  dreary  prospects  ; 
and  half  hopelessly  examined  the  possibilities  of  subsistence.  To 
offer  instruction  to  the  young,  or  amusement  to  the  old,  in  ex- 
change for  an  asylum  from  wani  and  danger,  still  appeared  to  her 
the  most  eligible  plan  of  life  ;  and  again  she  weighed  the  difficulty 
of  procuring  the  necessary  recommendations. 

Lady  Pelham  occurrecf  to  her  S=>me  claim  she  thoucrht  she 
might  have  had  to  the  pati'oaage  of  so  near  a  relation.    But  who' 


should  identify  her  ?  who  should  satisfy  Lady  Pelham  that  the 
claim  of  relationship  did  indeed  belong-  to  Laura  ?  Had  she  been 
previously  known  to  her  aunt,  her  difficulties  would  have  been  at 
an  end  ;  now  she  woukl  probably  be  rejected  as  an  impostor ;  and 
she  gave  a  sigh  to  the  want  of  foresight  which  had  suffered  her  to 
rejj»ice  in  escaping  an  interview  with  Lady  Pelham. 

After  much  consideration,  she  determined  to  solicit  the  recom- 
mendations of  Mis,  Douglas  and  the  De  Courcy  family  ;  and,  imtil 
she  could  avail  herself  of  these,  to  subsist,  in  some  obscure  lodg- 
ing, by  the  labour  of  her  hands.  In  the  meantime,  it  was  necessary 
to  remove  immediately  from  her  present  abode.  The  day  follow- 
ing was  the  last  when  she  could  claim  any  right  to  re  mam  there  ; 
and  she  proceeded  to  make  preparations  for  her  departure. 

With  a  bleeding  heart  she  began  to  arrange  whatever  had  be- 
longed to  Monlreville ;  and  paused,  with  floods  of  tears,  upon 
every  relic  now  become  so  sacred.  She  entered  his  closet.  His 
was  the  last  foot  that  had  pressed  the  threshold.  His  chair  stood 
as  he  had  risen  from  it.  On  the  ground  lay  the  cushion  yet  impress- 
ed with  his  knees — his  Bible  was  open  as  he  had  left  it.  One  pas- 
sage w.as.blifttered  with  his  tears  ;  and  there  Laura  read  with  emo- 
tions unutterable — "  Leave  to  me  thy  fatherless  children,  and  I 
will  preserve  them  alive."  Her  recent  wounds  thus  torn  open, 
with  agt)n3-  which  could  not  be  restrained,  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  ground  ;  and,  with  cries  of  anguish,  besought  her  father  to  re- 
turn but  for  one  short  hour  to  comfort  his  desolate  child.  "  Oh  I 
shall  never,  never  see  him  more,'*  said  she. — "  all  my  cries  are 
voin,**— and  she  wpjit  tKoM»«»-e  Vipui^aiisf  thpy  urere  in  vam.  500n, 
however,  she  reproached  herself  with  her  immoderate  sorrow,  soon 
mingled  its  accents  with  those  of  humble  resignation;  and  the  vi- 
gorous mind  recovering  in  devotion  all  its  virtuous  energy,  she 
returned,  with  restored  composure,  to  her  melancholy  labours. 

In  her  fatlier's  writing-desk  she  found  an  unfinished  letter.  It 
began  "  My  dear  De  Courcy," — and  Laura  was  going  to  read  it  with 
the  awe  of  one  who  listens  to  the  last  words  of  a  father,  when  she 
remembered  having  surprised  her  father  while  writing  it,  and  his 
having  hastily  concealed  it  from  her  sight.  She  instantly  folded  it 
without  further  acquaintance  with  its  contents,  except  that  her 
own  name  caught  her  eye.  Continuing  to  arrange  the  papers,  she 
observed  a  letter  addressed  to  herself  in  a  hand  which  she  did  not 
remember  to  have  seen.  It  was  Lady  Pelham's  answer  to  that  in 
which  Laura  had  announced  her  mother's  death.  She  perceived 
that  it  might  furnish  an  introduction  to  her  aunt ;  and  with  a  sen- 
sation of  gratitude  she  remembered  that  she  had  been  accidentally 
prevented  from  destroying  it. 

Lady  Pelham  was  elder  by  several  years  than  her  sister  Lady 
Harriet.  Her  father,  a  saving  painstaking  attorney,  died  a  few 
months  after  she  was  born.  His  widow,  who,  from  an  idea  of  their 
necessity,  had  concurred  in  all  his  economical  plans,  discovered 
with  equal  surprise  and  delight,  that  his  death  had  left  her  the 
entire  management  of  five-and-thirty  thousand  pounds.    This  for- 


JO 

tune,  which  she  was  to  enjoy  during  her  life,  was  secured,  in  tiife 
event  of  her  demise,  to  little  Miss  Bridget ;  and  this  arrangement 
was  one  of  the  eai'liest  pieces  of  information  which  little  Miss 
Bridget  received.  For  seven  years  the  little  heiress  waa,  in  her 
mother's  undisguised  opinion,  and  consequently  in  her  own,  the 
most  important  personag*e  upon  the  face  of  this  terrestrial  gl&be. 
Uut  worldly  glories  are  fleeting  Lord  Winterfield's  taste  in 
stewed  carp  had  been  improved  by  half  a  century's  assiduous  cul- 
tivation. Now  the  widoAV  Price  understood  the  stewing  of  carp 
better  than  any  woman  in  England,  so  his  Lordship  secured  to 
himself  the  benefit  of  her  talent  by  making  her  Lady  Winterfield.  J 
In  ten  months  after  this  marriage,  another  young  lady  appeared^J 
as  much  more  important  than  Miss  Bridget,  as  an  earl  is  than  aa^ 
attorney.  Fortune,  however  dispensed  her  gifts  with  tolerable 
equality.  Beauty  and  rank,  indeed,  were  all  on  the  side  of  Lady 
Harriet,  but  the  wealth  lay  in  the  scale  of  Miss  Price  ;  for  Ix)rd 
AVinterfield,  leaving  the  bulk  of  his  property  to  tlie  children  of  his. 
first  marriage,  bequeathed  to  his  youngest  daughter  only  five 
thousand  pounds.  These  circumstances  procured  to  Miss  Price 
another  advantage,  for  she  married  a  baronet  with  «  considerable 
estate,  while  Lady  Harriet's  fate  stooped  to  a  lieutenant  in  a  march-, 
jng  regiment.  After  ten  years,  which  Lady  Pelham  declared  were 
spent  in  uninterrupted  harmony.  Sir  Edward  Pelham  died.  The 
exclusive  property  of  his  wife's  patrimony  had  been  strictly  se- 
cured to  her  ;  and,  either  thinking  such  a  provision  sufficient  for 
a  female,  or  nio^ed  by  a  reason  which  we  shall  not  at  present  dis- 
close. Sir  Edward.  I>efitow£./^1  on,  the  ncphow  who  ;nT»»»rit<»i;T  h»«  title, 

his  whole  estate,  burthened  only  witli  a  jointure  of  five  hundred 
pounds  a-year,  settled  upon  Lady  Pelham  by  her  marriage-con- 
tract. Of  liis  daughter,  and  only  child,  no  mention  was  made  in 
his  testament;  but  Sir  Edward,  during  the  last  year-s  of  his  life, 
had  acquired  the  character  of  an  oddity,  and  nobody  wondered  at 
his  eccentricities.  At  the  commencement  of  her  widowhood.  Lady 
Pelliam  purcliased  a  villa  in shire,  where  she  spent  the  sum- 
mer, returning  in  tlje  winter  to  Grosvenor  Street;  and  this  last 
was  almost  tlie  only  part  of  her  liistory  which  was  known  to  Laura. 
Even  before  Lady  Harriet's  marriage,  little  cordiality  had  subsist- 
ed between  the  sisters.  From  the  date  of  that  event,  their  inter- 
course had  been  almost  entirely  broken  off ;  and  the  only  attention 
wliich  Laura  had  ever  received  from  her  aunt,  was  contained  in 
the  letter  which  she  was  now  thankfully  contemplating.  Her  pp.s- 
session  of  this  letter,  together  with  her  acqiiaintance  vyith  the  facts 
to  which  it  related,  she  imagined  would  form  sufficient  proof  ()f 
her  identity  ;  and  her  national  ideas  of  the  claims  of  relationship, 
awakened  a  hope  of  obtaining  her  aunt's  assistance  in  procuring 
some  respectable  situation. 

Determined  to  avail  herself  of  her  fortunate  discovery,  she 
qiiitted  her  father's  apartmeiUs  ;  and  carrying  v/ith  her  her  cre- 
dential, lost  no  time  in  repairing  to  Grosvenor  Street.  Nor  did 
she  experience  the  reluctaiice  which  she  had  formci'ly  felt  to- 


11 

wiirds  an  interview  with  Lady  Pelham  ;  for  she  was  fully  sensible 
of  the  diftieretice  between  a  petitioner  for  charity  and  a  candidate 
for  honourable  employment.  Besides,  there  is  no  teacher  of  humili- 
ty like  misfortune  ;  and  Laura's  spirits  were  too  completely  subdu- 
ed to  anticipate  or  to  notice  diminutive  attacks  upon  her  self-conse- 
quence- She  still,  however,  with  constitutional  reserve,  shrunk 
from  intruding"  upon  a  stranger  ;  and  she  passed  and  repassed  the 
door,  examining  the  exterior  of  the  house,  as  if  she  could  thence 
have  inferred  the  character  of  its  owner,  before  she  took  courage 
to  give  one  gentle  knock. 

A  footman  opened  the  door,  and  Laura,  faltering,  inquired  if 
Lady  Pelham  was  within  From  Laura's  single  knock,  her  hum- 
We  voice,  and  her  yet  more  humble  habit,  which  in  ten  month's 
itse,  had  somewhat  faded  from  the  sober  magnificence  of  black, 
the  man  had  formed  no  very  lofty  idea  of  the  visitors  rank.  He 
answered,  that  He  believed  his  lady  was  not  at  home  ;  but  half 
afraid  of  dismissing  some  person  with  whom  she  might  have  busi- 
ness, he  spoke  in  a  tone  which  made  Laura  a  little  doubt  the  truth 
ef  his  information.  She  inquired  at  what  time  she  might  be  like- 
ly to  gain  access  to  Lady  Pelham  ;  and  as  she  spoke  threw  bat  k 
ker  crape  veil,  unconscious  how  successfully  she  was  pleading  her 
own  cause.  Struck  with  a  countenance  whose  candour,  sweet- 
ress,  and  beauty,  won  a  way  to  every  heart,  the  man  gazed  at  her 
for  a.moment  with  vulgar  admiration,  and  then  throwing  open  the 
doorof  a  little  parlour,  begged  her  to  walk  in,  while  he  inquired 
whether  his  lady  were  visible,  lie  soon  returned,  telling  Laura 
that  Lady  Pelham  would  receive  her  in  a  few  minutes. 

During  these  few  minutes,  Laura  had  formed  a  hundred  conjec- 
tiures  concerning  her  aunt*  person,  voice,  and  manner.  She  won- 
dered whether  she  resembled  Lady  Harrit't ;  whether  her  own 
form  would  rccal  to  Lady  Pelham  the  remembrance  of  her  sister. 
At  every  noise  her  heart  fluttered — at  every  step  she  expected  the 
entrance  of  this  relation,  on  whom  perhaps  so  much  of  her  future 
fate  might  depend  ;  and  she  lield  her  breath  that  she  might  distin-' 
guish  her  approach.  A  servant  at  last  came  to  conduct  her  to  his 
mistress  ;  and  she  followed  him,  not  without  a  feeling  of  awe,  into 
the  presence  of  her  mother's  sister. 

That  sentiment,  however,  by  no  means  gathered  strength  when 
she  took  courage  to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  plain  little  elderly  person 
\0  whom  she  was  introduced,  and  heard  herself  addrese'd  in  the 
accents  of  cbeeriul  familiarity.  Laura,  with  modest  dignity,  made 
known  her  name  and  situation  She  spoke  of  her  n. other's  death, 
and  the  tears  trickled  from  her  eyes — of  her  fatl>er's,  and  in  vent- 
ing the  natural  eloquence  of  grief,  she  forgot  that  she  came  to  in- 
terest a  stranger.  Lady  Pelham  seemed  afTected  ;  she  held  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  remained  in  that  attitude  for  some 
time  after  Laura  had  recovered  self  possession.  Then  throwing 
her  arms  round  her  lovely  niece,  she  afiectionately  acknowledged 
the  relationship,  adding,  "your  resemblance  to  my  poor. lister 


12 

cannot  be  overlooked,  and  yet  in  saying*  so,  I  atti  far  from  paying 
you  a  compliment " 

After  shewing  Lady  Pelham  her  own  letter,  and  nieiitioning 
such  circumstances  as  tended  to  confirm  her  identity,  Laura  pro- 
ceeded to  detail  her  plans,  to  which  her  Ladyship  listened  with 
apparent  interest.  She  inquired  into  Laura's  accomplishments, 
and  seemed  pondering  the  probability  of  employing  them  with  ad- 
vantage to  the  possessor.  After  a  few  moments  silence,  she  said, 
"  That  short  as  their  acquaintance  had  been,  she  thought  she 
could  perceive  that  Laura  had  too  much  sensibility  for  a  dependent 
situation.  But  we  shall  talk  of  that  hereafter,"  continued  she. 
"  At  present,  your  spirits  are  too  weak  for  the  society  of  strangers  ; 
—and  mine**  added  her  Ladyship  with  a  sigh,  "  are  not  much 
more  buoyant  than  your  OAvn.**  Laura  looked  up  with  the  kindly 
interest  which,  whether  she  herself  were  joyful  or  in  sadness, 
sorrow  could  always  command  with  her;  and  her  aunt  answered 
her  glance  of  inquiry,  by  relating  that  her  only  daughter  and  heir- 
ess, had  eloped  from  her  a  few  days  before,  with  an  artful  young 
fellow  without  family  or  fortune.  *•  She  deceived  me  by  a  train  of 
the  basest  artifices,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  "  though  she  might  have 
known  that  her  happiness  was  my  chief  concern ;  and  that,  to  se- 
cure it,  I  might  have  been  brought  to  consent  to  any  thing.  Yet 
with  the  closest  secrecy  she  misled — with  the  most  unfeeling  cold- 
ness left  me.  Her  disobedience  I  might  have  forgiven — her  deceit 
I  never  can  ;  or,  if  as  a  Christian  I  forgive,  I  never,  never  can  for- 
get it.*' 

Lady  Pelham  had  talked  herself  out  of  breath ;  andlUiura,  not 
quite  understai)ding  this  kind  of  Christian  forgiveness,  wis  isilent, 
because  she  did  not  well  know  what  to  say.  She  felt,  however, 
compassion  for  a  parent  deserted  by  her  only  child,  and  the  feel- 
ing was  legible  in  a  countenance  peculiarly  fitted  for  every  tender 
expression. 

There  are  some  degrees  of  sorrow  which  increase  in  acuteness, 
at  least  whieh  augment  in  vehemence  of  expression,  by  the  percep- 
tion of  having  excited  sympathy.  Weak  fires  gather  strength 
from  radiation.  After  a  glance  at  Laura,  Lady  Pelham  melted 
into  tears,  and  contmued,  *'  1  know  not  how  I  had  deserved  such 
ti'eatment  from  her ;  for  never  had  she  reason  to  complain  of 
me.  I  have  always  treated  her  with  what  I  must  call  unmerited 
kindness.'* 

Laura  now  ventured  a  few  conciliating  words.  "  She  will  feel 
her  error.  Madam, — she  will  strive  by  her  after-life  to  atone——" 
Lady  Pelham  immediately  dried  her  eyes,  "  No,  no,  my  dear,"  in- 
terrupted she,  *•  you  don't  know  her — you  have  no  idea  of  the  hard- 
ness of  her  unfeeling  heart.  Rejoice,  sweet  girl,  that  you  have  no 
idea  of  it.  For  my  part,  though  sensibility  is  at  best  but  a  painful 
blessing,  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  the  most  peaceful  apathy  that 
can  feel  for  noihi»g  but  itself  I  must  have  somethmg  to  love  and 
cherish.  You  shall  be  that  something.  You  shall  live  with  me, 
and  we  shall  console  each  other." 


13 

On  another  occasloo,  Laura  might  have  been  disposed  to  ca.n 
vass  the  nature  of  that  sensibility  which  could  thus  enlarg-e  to  a 
stranger  on  the  defects  of  an  only  child.  Indeed  she  was  little 
conversant  even  with  the  name  of  this  quality.  Her  own  sensibili- 
ty she  had  baen  taught  to  consider  as  a  weakness  to  be  subdued, 
not  as  an  ornament  to  be  gloried  in;  and  the  expansion  of  soul 
which  opens  to  all  the  sorrows  and  to  all  the  joys  of  others,  she  had 
learnt  to  call  by  a  holier  name — to  regulate  by  a  nobler  principle. 
But  she  was  little  disposed  to  examine  the  merits  of  a  feeling  to 
which  she  owed  the  offer  of  an  unsolicited  asylum.  Her  heart 
swelling  with  gratitude,  she  clasped  Lady  Pelham*s  hand  between 
her  own,  and  while  tears  streamed  down  her  face,  "  Kind  con- 
siderate friend,"  she  cried,  "why,  why  were  yon  not  known 
to  us  while  my  father  could  have  been  sensible  to  your  kind- 
ness !" 

After  Lady  Pelham  had  repeated  her  proposal  more  in  detail, 
and  Laura  had  thankfully  acceded  to  it,  they  remained  in  conver- 
sation for  some  time  longer.  Lady  Pelham  showed  that  she  had 
much  wit,  much  vivacity,  and  some  information  ;  and  after  settling 
that  Laura  should  next  day  become  an  inmate  in  Grosvenor  Street, 
tliey  separated,  mutually  delighted  with  each  other.  Lady  Pelham 
applauded  herself  for  a  generous  action,  and,  to  the  interest 
which  Laura  awakened  in  every  breast,  was  added  in  Lady 
Pelham*s  all  the  benevolence  of  self-complacency.  Laura,  on 
the  other  hand,  did  not  once  dream  that  any  fault  could  harbour 
in  the  unsuspicious  liberal  heart  which  had  believed  the  tale,  and 
removed  the  difficulties  of  a  stranger.  She  did  not  once  dream 
that  she  owed  her  new  asylum  to  any  motive  less  noble  than  disin- 
terested goodness. 

No  wonder  that  her  ladyship's  motive  escaped  the  penetration 
of  Laura,  when  it  even  evaded  her  own.  And  yet  no  principle 
could  be  more  simple  in  its  nature,  or  more  con.stant  in  its  opera- 
tion, than  that  which  influenced  Lady  Pelhain  ;  but  the  Proteus 
put  on  so  many  various  forms,  that  he  ever  avoided  detection  from 
the  subject  of  his  sway.  In  the  mean  time,  the  desire  of  per- 
forming a  generous  action — of  securing  the  gratitude  of  a  feeling 
heart— of  patronizing  a  |W)or  relation,  were  the  only  motives  which 
her  ladyship  acknowledged  to  herself,  when  she  offered  protec- 
tion to  Laura.  An  idea  had,  indeed,  darted  across  her  right 
honourable  mind,  that  she  mi^'it  now  secure  a  humble  compa- 
nion at  a  rate  lower  than  tlie  usual  price  of  such  conveniences  :  a 
momentary  notion,  too,  she  formed,  of  exciting  the  jealousy  of 
her  daughter,  by  replacing  her  with  so  formidable  a  competitor 
for  favour ;  but  these,  she  thought,  were  mere  collateral  advan- 
tages, and  by  no  means  the  circumstances  which  fixed  her  deter- 
mination. The  resolution  upon  which  she  acted,  was  taken,  as 
her  resolutions  generally  were,  without  caution  ;  and  she  express- 
ed it,  as  her  custom  was,  the  moment  it  was  formed.  Laura  was 
scarcely  gone,  however,  when  her  aunt  began  to  repent  of  her 
precipitancy,  lind  to  wish,  as  she  had  often  occasion  to  do,  that 

B 


14 

bbe  had  taken  a  little  more  time  for  consideration.  But  she  com- 
forted herself,  that  she  could  at  any  time  get  rid  of  her  charge,  by 
recominending  Laura  to  one  of  the  situations  which  she  had  m«i- 
tioned  as  her  choice  ;  and  the  lady  knew  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  find  one  more  lucrative  than  that  upon  which  her  niece  was  en- 
tering" ;  for  how  could  she  possibly  offer  wages  to  so  near  a  rela- 
tion, or  insult  with  the  gift  of  a  trifling  sum  a  person  of  Laura's 
dignity  of  deportment  ?  These  reasons,  Lady  Pelham  alleged  to 
licrself,  as  sufficient  grounds  for  a  resolution  never  to  affront  her 
niece  by  a  tender  of  pecuniary  favours. 

While  these  thoughts  were  revolving  in  Lady  Pelham's  mind, 
Laura  had  reached  her  home;  and,  on  her  knees,  was  thanking 
Providence  for  having  raised  up  for  her  a  protector  aud  a  friend, 
and  praying  that  she  might  be  enabled  to  repay,  in  affectionate 
and  respectful  duty,  a  part  of  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  she  ow- 
ed to  her  benefactress.  The  rest  of  the  evening  she  sj^ent  in  pre- 
paring for  her  removal — in  ruminating  on  her  interview  with  her 
aunt,  and  in  endeavouring  to  compose,  from  the  scuiiiy  materials 
which  she  possessed,  a  character  of  this  new  arbitress  of  her  des- 
tiny. From  Lady  Pelham's  prompt  decision  in  favour  of  a  stran- 
ger, from  her  unreserved  expression  of  her  feelings,  from  her 
iively  manner  and  animated  countenance,  Laura  concluded  that 
she  was  probably  of  a  temper  warm,  susceptible,  and  easily 
wounded  by  unkindness  or  neglect,  but  frank,  candid,  and  for- 
giving. Laura  wished  that  she  had  better  studied  her  aunt's  phy- 
siognomy. What  she  recollected  of  it  was  quite  unintelligible  to 
her.  Siie  laboured  in  vain  to  reconcile  the  feminine  curvatures  of 
the  nose  and  forehead  wiih  the  inflexible  closing  of  the  mouth, 
and  tlie  hard  outline  of  the  chin,  where  lurked  no  soft  relent- 
ing line. 

But  however  the  countenance  might  puzzle  conjecture,  of  the 
mind  she  harboured  not  a  doubt ;  Lady  Pelham's,  she  was  per-  _ 
suaded,  was  one  of  those  open  generous  souls,  which  the  young" 
and  unwary  are  always  prepared  to  expect  and  to  love— souls 
having  no  disguise,  and  needing  none.  Now  this  was  precisely 
the  character  which  Lady  Pelham  often  and  sincerely  drew  of  her- 
self:  and  who  ought  to  have  been  so  intimately  acquainted  with 
hca*  ladyship's  disposition  ? 


CHAPTER  XX. 

It  was  not  without  hesitation  that  Laura  formed  her  resolution  J 
to  conceal  from  Hargrave  her  place  of  abode.  She  felt  for  the  un-  | 
easiness  which  this  concealment  would  cause  him.  Siie  feared -r 
that  her  desertion  might  remove  one  incitement  to  a  virtuous  0 
.-ourse.    liut  Phe  considered,  that  while  ihc'ir  future  connexion 


15 

was  doubtful,  it  was  imprudent  to  strengthen  by  habitual  inter- 
course their  need  of  each  other's  society  ;  and  she  reflected,  that 
she  could  best  estimate  his  character  from  actions  performed  be- 
yond the  sphere  of  her  influence.  Her  watcliful  self-distrust 
made  her  fear  to  expose  her  resolution  to  his  importunities  ;  and 
she  felt  the  impropriety  of  introducing  into  her  aunt's  family,  a 
person  who  stood  on  terms  with  her  which  she  did  not  choose  to 
explain.  These  reasons  induced  her  to  withhold  from  Hargrave 
the  knowledge  of  her  new  situation  ;  and,  certain  that  if  it  were 
known  to  Mrs.  Stubbs  or  her  servants  he  would  soon  be  master  of 
the  secret,  she  left  no  clue  by  which  to  trace  her  retreat.  Per- 
liaps,  though  she  did  not  confess  it  to  herself;  she  was  assisted  in 
this  act  of  self-command  by  a  latent  hope,  that  as  she  was  now  to 
be  introduced  to  a  society  on  his  own  level,  Hargrave  might  not 
find  the  mystery  quite  inscrutable. 

She  was  kindly  welcomed  by  Lady  Pelham,  and  took  possession 
of  a  small  but  commodious  apartment,  where  she  arranged  her 
drawing  materials,  together  with  the  few  books  she  possessed,  in- 
tending to  make  that  her  retreat  as  often  as  her  aunt  found  amuse- 
ment or  occupation  independent  of  her.  She  resolved  to  devote 
her  chief  attention  to  making  herself  useful  and  entertaining  to  her 
patroness.  In  the  first,  she  derived  hopes  of  success,  from  Lady 
Pelham's  declared  incapacity  for  all  employments  that  are  strictl} 
feminine.  The  second,  she  thought,  would  be  at  once  easy  and 
pleasant,  for  Lady  Pelham  was  acute,  lively,  and  communica- 
tive. This  latter  quality  she  possessed  in  an  unusual  degree,  and 
yet  Laura  fotmdit  diflUcult  to  unravel  her  character.  In  general, 
«he  saw,  that  her  aunt's  understanding  was  briglit ;  she  was  per 
suaded  that  in  general  her  heart  was  warm  and  generous  ;  bui. 
the  descent  to  particulars  baffled  Laura's  penetration.  Lady  Pel- 
ham could  amuse — could  delight  ;  she  said  many  wise,  and  many 
brilliant  things  ;  but  her  wisdom  was  not  alv.ays  well-timed,  and 
her  brilliant  things  were  soap-bubbles  in  the  sun,  sparkling  and 
highly  coloured,  but  vanishing  at  the  touch  of  him  who  would 
examine  their  structure.  Lady  Pelham  could  dispute  with  singti- 
lar  acuteness.  By  the  use  of  ambiguous  terms,  by  ingenious  so- 
phistry, by  dexterously  shifting  from  the  ground  of  controversj', 
she  could  baffle,  and  perplex,  and  confound  her  opponents  :  bur, 
she  could  not  argue  ;  she  never  convinced.  Her  opinions  seemed 
iluctuating,  and  Laura  was  sometimes  ready  to  imagine  that  she 
defended  them,  not  because  they  were  just,  nor  even'because  they 
were  her  own,  but  merely  because  she  had  called  them  so  ;  for 
with  a  new  antagonist  she  could  change  sides,  and  maintain  the 
opposite  ground  with  equal  address. 

In  spite  of  all  the  warmtli  of  heart  for  which  she  gave  her  aunt 
credit,  Laura  soon  began  to  imagine  that  Lady  Pelham  had  no 
friends.  Among  all  the  acquaintances  whom  she  attracted  and 
amused,  no  one  seemed  to  exchange  regard  with  her.  The  gaiety 
of  pleasure  never  softened  in  her  preseiYce  into  the  tenderness  of 


16 

afleetion.  Laura  could  not  discover  that  there  existed  one  being 
from  wliose  failing-s  Lady  Pelham  respectfully  a\'erted  her  own 
sig-lit,  while  reverently  veiling*  them  from  the  eyes  of  others.  A 
few,  very  fewt  seemed  to  be  the  objects  of  Lady  Peiham*s  esteem  ; 
tlio.se  of  her  love  Laura  could  not  discover.  Towards  her,  how- 
ever, her  aunt  expressed  a  strong"  affection  ;  and  Laura  continued 
to  persuade  herself,  that  if  Lady  Pelham  had  no  friends,  it  was 
because  slie  was  surrounded  by  those  who  were  not  worthy  of  her 
friendship. 

As  she  appeared  to  invite  and  to  desire  unreserved  confidence, 
Laura  had  soon  made  her  acquainted  with  the  narrative  of  her 
short  life,  excepting  so  far  as  it  related  to  Hargrave.  At  the  de- 
tail of  llie  unworthy  advantagtj  which  Warren  had  taken  of  Mon- 
tieville's  inability  to  enforce  his  claim  for  the  annuity,  Lady  Pel- 
ham  broke  out  into  sincere  and  vehement  expressions  of  indigna- 
tion and  contempt ;  for  no  one  more  cordially  abhorred  oppression, 
or  despised  meanness  in  others.  She  immediately  gave  directions 
to  her  man  of  business  to  attempt  bringing  the  a^air  to  a  conclu- 
sion, and  even  to  threaten  Warren  with  a  prosecution  in  case  of 
his  refusal.  Virtuous  resistance  of  injustice  was  motive  sufficient 
for  this  action,  Pity  that  Lady  Pelham  should  have  sought  another 
in  the  economy  and  ease  with  which  it  promised  to  provide  for  an 
indigent  relative  !  Mr.  Warren  was  no  sooner  informed  that  the 
poor  obscure  unfriended  Laura  was  the  niece  of  Lady  Pelham, 
and  the  inmate  of  her  house,  than  he  contrived  to  arrive  at  a  mar- 
vellous certainty  that  the  price  of  the  annuity  had  been  paid,  and 
that  the  mistake  in  the  papers  relating  to  it  originated  in  mere  acr 
cident.  In  less  than  a  fortnight  the  informality  was  rectified,  and 
the  arrears  of  the  annuity  paid  into  Laura's  hands ;  the  lawyer 
having  first,  at  Lady  Pelham's  desire,  deducted  the  price  of  his 
services. 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  Laura  surveyed  her  wealth,  now  of  di- 
minished value  in  her  estimation.     *'  Only  a  few  weeks  ago,"  said 

she,  "  how  precious  had  this  been  to  me. — But  now ! Yet  it  is 

precious  still,"  said  she,  as  she  wiped  the  tears  away,  *'  for  it  can 
minister  occasions  of  obedience  and  of  usefulness."  That  very 
day  she  dispatched  little  presents  for  each  of  Mrs.  Douglas's  chil- 
dren, in  which  use  was  more  considered  than  show  ;  and  in  the 
letter  which  announced  her  gifts,  she  inclosed  half  of  the  remain- 
ing sum  to  be  distributed  among  her  own  poor  at  Glenalbert. 
Ihat  her  appearance  might  not  discredit  her  hostess,  she  next 
proceeded  to  renew  her  wardrobe;  and  though  she  carefully 
avoided  unnecessary  expense,  she  consulted  not  only  decency  but 
elegance  in  her  attire.  In  this,  and  all  other  matters  of  mere  in- 
difference, Laura  was  chiefly  guided  by  her  aunt ;  for  she  had 
early  observed  that  this  lady,  upon  all  occasions,  small  as  well  as 
great,  loved  to  exercise  tlie  office  of  dictatrix.  No  person  could 
have  been  better  fitted  than  Laura  to  conciliate  such  a  temper; 
for  on  41  the  le«ser  Qcpasions  of  submission  she  ws^  as  ^ent^^  *nil 


coiYiplying",  as  she  was  inflexible  upon  points  of  real  impoilaac'- 
In  theii'  conversations,  too,  though  Laura  defended  her  own  opi- 
nions with  great  firmnesS;  she  so  carefully  avoided  direct  contrii- 
diction  or  sarcastic  retort,  impatience  in  defeat,  or  triumph  in 
victory,  that  even  Lady  Pelham  could  scarcely  find  subject  of  irri- 
tation in  so  mild  an  antagonist.  Jn  some  respects,  their  tempers 
seemed  to  tally  admirably.  Lady  Pelham  had  great  aptitude  in 
detecting  errors — Laura  a  genius  for  remedying  tiiem.  Difficulty 
always  roused  her  ladyship's  impatience,  but  she  found  an  infalli- 
ble resource  in  the  perseverance  of  Laura.  In  short,  Laura  con- 
trived so  many  opportunities,  or  seized  with  such  happy  art  those 
which  presented  themselve.s,  of  ministering  to  the  comfort  or  con- 
venience of  her  aunt,  that  she  became  both  respectable  and  neces- 
sary to  her ;  and  this  was,  generally  speaking,  the  utmost  extent 
of  Lady  Pelham's  attachments. 

Lady  Pelham  sometimes  spoke  of  her  daughter,  and  Laura  ne-- 
ver  missed  the  opportunity  of  urging  a  reconciliation.  She  in- 
sisted that  the  rights  of  natural  affection  were  unalienable  ;  thai; 
■  as  they  did  not  rest  upon  the  merits,  so  neither  coidd  they  be  des- 
troyed by  the  unworthiness  cither  of  parents  or  of  children.  The 
mother  answered,  with  great  impatience,  that  Laura*s  argument 
was  entirely  founded  on  prejudice  ;  that  it  was  true  that  for  tho 
helplessness  of  infancy,  a  peculiar  feeling  was  provided  ;  but  that 
in  all  animals  this  peculiar  feeling  ceased  as  soon  as  it  was  no  lon- 
ger essential  to  the  existence  of  the  individual.  *•'  From  thence- 
forth," added  she,  "  the  regard  must  be  founded  on  the  qualities 
of  the  head  and  heart;  and  if  my  child  is  destitute  of  these,  I  can 
see  no  reason  why  I  should  prefer  her  to  the  child  of  any  other 
woman."  "  Ah  !"  said  Laura,  tears  of  grateful  recollection  rush- 
mg  down  her  cheek,  "  some  parents  have  loved  their  child  with  a 
icrvour  which  no  worth  of  hers  could  merit."  The  gush  of  na- 
tural sensibility  for  this  time  averted  the  rising  storm;  but  the 
next  time  that  Laura  renewed  her  conciliatory  efforts.  Lady  Pel- 
ham, gi-owing  more  vehement  as  she  became  herself  more  con- 
vinced that  she  was  m  the  wrong,  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage  - 
and,  execrating  all  rebellious  children,  and  their  defenders,  com' 
matided  Laura  in  future  to  confine  her  attention  to  what  might 
concern  herself 

The  humbling  spectacle  of  a  female  face  distorted  with  passion 
was  not  quite  new  to  Laura.  Undismayed,  she  viewed  it  with  calm 
commiseration  ;  and  mildly  expressing  her  sorrow  for  having  giv- 
en offence  ;  took  up  her  work,  and  left  the  ferment  to  subside  at 
leisure.  Her  ladyship's  passion  soon  cooled ;  and,  making  ad- 
vances with  a  sort  of  surly  condescension,  she  entered  on  a  new 
topic.  Laura  answered  exactly  as  if  nothing  disagreeable  had 
happened  ;  and  Lady  Pelham  could  not  divine  whether  her  niece 
commanaed  her  countenance,  or  her  temper.  Upon  one  principle 
of  judging  the  lady  had  grounds  for  her  doubts  ;  she  herself  had 
tfometanes  commanded  her  countenance— her  temper  neyer, 
32 


IS 

LauFa  not  only  habitually  avoided  giving  or  taking*  otfetice,  but 
made  it  a  rule  to  ext'niguish  its  last  traces  by  some  act  of  cordiali- 
ty and  good-will.  This  evening,  therefore,  she  proposed,  with  a 
grace  that  seemed  rather  to  petition  a  favour  than  to  offer  a  ser- 
vice ,  to  attempt  a  portrait  of  her  aunt.  The  offer  was  accepted 
with  pleasure,  and  the  portrait  begun  on  the  following  day.  It 
proved  a  likeness,  and  a  favourable  one.  Lady  Pelham  was  kinder 
than  ever.  Laura  avoided  the  prohibited  subject,  and  all  was 
quiet  and  serene.  Lady  Pelham  at  last  herself  reverted  to  it ;  for 
indeed  she  could  not  long  forbear  to  speak  upon  any  topic  that 
roused  her  passions.  No  dread  of  personal  inconvenience  could 
deter  Laura  from  an  act  of  justice  or  mercy,  and  she  again  stead- 
ily pronounced  her  opinion.  But  aware  that  one  who  would  per- 
suade must  be  careful  not  to  irritate,  she  expressed  her  senti- 
ments with  still  more  cautious  gentleness  than  forn>erly  ;  and  per-- 
ceiving  that  her  aunt  was  fer  more  governed  by  passion  than  by 
reason,  she  quitted  argument  for  entreaty.  By  these  means  she 
avoided  provoking  hostility,  though  she  failed  to  win  compliance. 
Lady  Pelham  seemed  to  be  utterly  impenetrable  to  entreaty,  or 
rather  to  take  pride  in  resisting  it,  and  Laura  had  only  to  hope  that 
time  would  favour  her  suit. 

Lady  Pelham  mentioned  an  intention  of  removing  early  to  th« 
country,  and  Laura  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of  once  more  behold- 
ing the  open  face  of  Heaven — of  listening  to  nature's  own  music— 
of  breathing  the  light  air  of  spring.  She  longed  to  turn  her  ear 
from  the  discords  of  the  city  to  the  sweet  sounds  of  peace — her 
eye  from  countenances  wan  with  care,  flushed  with  intemperance, 
or  ghastly  with  famine,  to  cheeks  brown  with  wholesome  exercise, 
or  ruddy  with  health  and  contentment — to  exchange  the  sight  of 
dusky  brick  walls,  and  walks  overlooked  by  thousands,  for  the 
sunny  slope  or  the  sheltered  solitary  lane.  Lady  Pelham  took 
pleasure  in  describing  the  beauties  of  Walbourne,  and  Laura  list- 
ened to  her  with  interest,  anticipating  eagerly  the  time  when  she 
should  inhabit  so  lovely,  so  peaceful  a  scene.  But  that  interest 
und  eagerness  rose  to  the  highest,  when  she  accidentally  discover- 
ed that  the  De  Courcy  family  were  Lady  Pelhum's  nearest  neigh- 
bours in  the  counti'v. 

The  want  of  something  to  love  and  cherish,  which  was  with  hep 
ladyship  a  mere  form  of  speed).  Was  with  Laura  a  real  necessity 
of  nature  ;  and  though  it  was  one  which  almost  every  situation 
could  supply,  since  every  creature  that  approached  her  was  the 
object  of  her  benevolence,  yet  much  of  the  happiness  of  so  do- 
mestic a  being  depended  on  the  exercise  of  the  dearer  charities, 
and  no  one  was  more  capable  of  a  distinguishing  preference  than 
Laura.  She  had  a  hearty  regard  for  the  l)e  Couicy  family.  She 
revered  Mrs.  Ue  Courcy ;  »he  liked  Hamet  ;  and  bestowed  on 
Montague  her  cordial  esteem  and  gratitude.  This  gratitude  had 
now  acquired  a  sacred  tenderness ;  for  it  was  associated  in  her 
mind  with  the  remembrance  of  a  parent.  Ue  Courcy's  self-denial 
had  cheered  her  father's  sickbed,  his  benevolence  gladdened  her 


19 

father^i  lieart,  and  his  »eif-deBial  appeared  more  venerable,  his 
benevolence  more  endearing. 

Having  written  to  inform  Harriet  of  the  change  in  her  situation, 
she  discovered  from  her  answer  a  new  proef  of  De  Courcy's  friend- 
ship, in  the  fruitless  joumey  which  he  had  made  to  relieve  her, 
and  she  regretted  that  her  caution  had  deprived  her  of  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  and  thanking  him  for  all  his  kindness.  **  Yet,  if 
we  had  met,"  said  she,  "  I  should  probably  have  acted  as  I  liave 
done  a  hundred  times  before ;  left  him  to  believe  me  an  insensi- 
ble, ungrateful  creature,  for  want  of  courage  to  tell  him  that  I 
was  not  8o/*  She  longed,  however,  to  see  De  Courcy  ;  for  with 
him  she  thought  she  could  talk  of  her  father — to  him  lament  her 
irreparable  loss,  dwell  with  him  on  the  circumstances  that  aggra- 
%'ated  her  sorrow— on  the  prospects  which  mingled  that  sorrow 
with  hope.  This  was  a  subject  on  which  she  never  entered  with 
Lady  Pelham  any  farther  than  necessity  required — real  sorrow  has 
its  holy  ground,  on  which  no  vulgar  foot  must  tread.  The  self- 
command  of  Laura  would  have  forbidden  her,  in  any  situation,  to 
darken  with  a  settled  gloom  the  sunshine  of  domestic  cheerful- 
ness ;  but  Lady  Pelham  had  in  her  somewhat  which  repels  the 
confidence  of  grief.  Against  all  the  arrows  of  misfortune,  blunt- 
ed at  least  as  they  rebound  from  the  breasts  of  others,  she  seemed 
to  "  wear  a  charmed  life."  She  often  indeed  talked  of  sensibility, 
and  reprobated  the  want  of  it  as  the  worst  of  faults  ;  but  the  only 
kind  of  it  in  which  she  indulged  rather  inclined  to  the  acrimonious 
than  the  benevolent,  and  Laura  began  to  perceive,  that  however 
her  aunt  might  distinguish  them  in  others,  irascible  passions  and 
keen  feelings  were  in  herself  synonymous. 

After  the  effort  of  giving  and  receiving  the  entertainment  which 
Lady  Pelham  constantly  offered,  and  as  constantly  exacted  in  re- 
turn, Laura  experienced  a  sensation  of  recovered  freedom  when 
the  arrival  of  a  visitor  permitted  her  to  escape  to  her  own  apart- 
ment. She  saw  nobody  but  her  aunt,  aiul  never  went  abroad  ex- 
cept to  church.  Thus,  during  a  fortnight  which  slie  had  passed 
in  Grosvenor  Street,  slie  had  heard  nothing  of  Hargrave.  She  was 
anxious  to  know  whether  he  visited  Lady  Pelham  ;  for,  with  rus- 
tic ignorance,  she  imagined  that  all  people  of  condition  who  re- 
sided in  the  same  town  must  be  known  to  each  other ;  but  she  had 
not  courage  to  ask,  and  searched  in  vain  for  his  name  among  the 
cards  that  crowded  the  table  in  the  lobby.  Though  she  was  con- 
scious of  some  curiosity  to  know  how  he  employed  the  hours 
which  her  absence  had  left  vacant,  she  did  not  own  to  herself  that 
she  was  at  all  concerned  in  a  resolution  which  she  took,  to  inquire 
in  person  whether  any  letters  had  been  left  for  her  with  Mrs. 
Stubbs.  She  did  not  choose  to  commit  the  iiuj[uiry  to  a  servant, 
because  she  would  not  condescend  to  enjoin  her  messenger  to  se- 
crecy as  to  tlie  place  of  her  abode ;  and  she  cantinued  resolved  to 
gi^  e  her  lover  no  clue  to  discover  it. 

Accordingly,  she  early  one  morning  set  out  in  a  hackney-coach, 
which  she  took  the  precaution  to  leave  at  some  distance  from  h«r 


20 

old  lodgings,  ordering  it  to  wait  her  return.  Fanny  was  delight- 
ed to  see  her,  and  charmed  with  the  improvement  of  her  dress, 
and  tlie  returning  healthfuhiess  of  her  appearance ;  but  the  land- 
lady eyed  her  askance,  and  surlily  answered  to  her  inquiry  for  her 
letters,  that  she  would  bring  the  only  one  she  liad  got  ;  mutter- 
ing, as  she  went  to  fetch  it,  something  of  which  the  words  "  sC^*- 
cret  doings"  were  all  that  reached  Laura's  ear.  "  There,  Miss," 
said  the  ungracious  Mrs.  Stubbs,  *'  there's  your  letter,  and  there's 
the  queer  scrawl  it  came  wrupt  up  in."  **  Mr.  De  Courcy's  baud," 
eried  Laura  surprised,  but  thinking,  from  its  size,  that  some  time 
would  be  reqidt'ed  to  read  it,  slie  deferred  breaking  the  seal  till 
she  should  return  to  her  carriage.  *'  I  suppose  you're  mistaken, 
Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Stubbs  ;  "  Mr.  De  Courcy  was  htre  twice  the 
day  it  came,  and  he  never  said  a  word  of  it." 

Laura  now  tremulously  inquired  whether  she  might  be  per- 
mitted to  revisit  her  father's  room  ;  but  being  roughly  answered 
that  it  was  occupied,  she  quietly  prepared  to  go.  As  Fanny  fol- 
lowed her  tlirough  the  garden,  to  open  the  gate  for  her,  Laura,  a 
conscious  blush  rising  to  her  face,  inquired  whether  any  body  else 
had  inquired  for  her  since  her  departure.  Fanny,  who  was  ready 
to  burst  with  the  news  of  Hargrave's  visit,  and  who  was  just  me- 
ditating how  she  miglit  venture  to  introduce  it,  improved  tliis  oc- 
casion of  entering  on  a  full  detail  of  his  behaviour.  With  the 
true  waiting-maid-like  fondness  for  romance,  she  enlarged  upon 
all  his  extravagancies,  peepijig  side-long  now  and  tlien  under 
Laura's  bonnet,  to  catch  encouragement  from  the  complacent  sim- 
per with  which  such  talcs  are  often  heard.  But  no  smile  repaid 
her  eloquence.  With  immoveable  seriousness  did  Laura  li&ten  to 
her,  gravely  revolvingthe  strange  nature  of  tliat  love  wliich  could 
so  readily  amalgamate  with  rage  and  jealousy,  and  every  discor- 
dant passion.  She  was  hurt  at  the  indecoi'um  which  exposed 
these  weaknesses  to  the  observation  of  a  servant ;  and  with  a  sigh 
reflected,  that,  to  constitute  llie  happiness  of  a  woman  of  sense 
and  spirit,  a  husband  must  be  possessed  of  qualities  respectable 
as  well  as  amiable. 

Fanny  next  tried,  whether  what  concerned  De  Courcy  might 
not  avva.ken  more  apparent  interest ;  and  here  she  had  at  least  a 
better  opportunity  to  judge  of  the  effect  of  her  narrative,  for  Laura 
stopped  and  turned  full  towards  her  But  Fanny  had  now  no 
transports  to  relate,  except  De  Courcy's  indignation  at  Mrs. 
Stubbs's  calumny;  and  it  was  not  without  hesitating,  and  quahfy- 
ing,  and  apologizing,  that  the  girl  ventured  to  hint  at  the  insinua- 
tions which  her  mistress  had  thrown  out.  She  had  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  raising  emotion,  for  indignant  crimson  dyed  Ljuira*s 
cheeks,  and  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes.  But  Lauia  seldom  spoke 
while  she  was  angry  ;  and  again  she  silently  pursued  her  way. 
*'  Pray,  Madam,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  was  opening  tlie  gate,  *'  do 
be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  wliere  you  live  now,  that  nobody  may 
speak  ill  of  you  before  me;"  "  1  thank  you,  my  good  gu-l,"  re- 
turned Laura,  a  placid  smil&  again  playing  on  her  countenance ; 


I 


21 

but  my  character  is  in  no  danger.  You  were  kind  to  iis,  Panay, 
when  you  knew  that  we  could  notrewardyou;  accept  of  tliis  from 
me  ;  and  she  put  five  guineas  into  her  hand.  **  No,  indeed.  Ma'am,'* 
cried  Fanny,  drawing  back  her  hand  and  colouring  ;  "  I  was  civil 
from  pure  good  will,  and——.**  Laura,  whose  sympathy  with  her 
inferiors  was  not  confined  to  their  bodilv  wants,  fully  understood 
the  feeling  that  revolts  from  bartering  for  gold  alone  the  service 
of  the  heart.  "  I  know  it  my  dear,**  answered  she,  in  an  affection- 
ate tone ;  '*  and  believe  me,  I  only  mean  to  acknowledge,  not  to 
repay,  your  kindn«  ss  *'  Fanny,  however,  persisted  in  her  refusal, 
and  Laura  obliged  her  to  leave  her  at  the  gate,  where,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  the  girl  stood  gazing  after  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight." 
**  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  turning  towards  the  house  as  Laura  disap- 
peared,  **  I'm  sure  she  was  made  to  be  a  queen,  for  the  more 
one  likes  her,  the  more  she  frightens  one." 

As  soon  as  Laura  was  seated  in  her  carriage,  she  opened  her 
packet,  and  with  momentary  disappointment  examined  its  con- 
tents. "*  Not  one  line  !'*  she  cried  in  a  tone  of  mortification  ;  and 
'  then  turned  to  the  envelope  addressed  to  Mrs.  Stubbs,  Upon  com- 
paring this  with  the  circumstances  which  she  had  lately  heard, 
she  at  once  comprehended  De  Courcy*s  intention  of  serving  her  by 
stealth,  foregoing  the  credit  due  to  his  generosity.  She  wondered, 
indeed,  that  he  had  neglected  to  disguise  his  hand  writing  in  the 
superscription.  "  Did  he  think,'*  said  she,  "  that  I  could  have 
forgotten  the  writing  that  has  so  often  brought  comfort  to  my  fa- 
ther ?'*  She  little  guessed  how  distant  from  his  mind  was  the  re- 
pose which  can  attend  to  minute  contrivance. 

Delighted  to  discover  a  trait  of  character  which  tallied  so  well 
with  her  preconceived  opinion,  she  no  sooner  saw  Lady  Felham 
than  she  related  it  to  her  aunt,  and  began  a  warm  eulogium  on  De 
Courcy's  temper  and  dispositions.  Lady  Felham  coldly  cut  her 
short,  by  saying,  "  I  believe  Mr.  De  Courcy  is  a  very  good  young 
man,  but  I  am  not  very  fond  of  prodigies.  One  can't  both  wonder 
an4  like  at  a  time  ;  your  men  with  two  heads  are  always  either  sup- 
posititious or  disgusting."  This  speech  was  one  of  the  dampers 
which  the  warm  heart  abhors ;  real  injury  could  not  more  success- 
fully chill  affection  or  repress  confidence  It  had  just  malice  and 
just  truth  enough  to  be  provoking;  and  for  the  second  time  that 
day  Laura  had  to  strive  with  the  risings  of  anger.  She  was  upon 
the  point  of  saying,  "  So,  aware  of  the  impossibility  of  being  at 
once  wonderful  and  pleasing,  your  ladyship,  1  suppose,  aims  at 
only  one  of  these  objects  ;'*  but  ere  the  sarcasm  found  utterance, 
she  checked  herself,  and  hastened  out  of  the  room,  with  the  sensa- 
tion of  having  escaped  from  danger.  She  retired  to  write  to  De 
Courcy  a  letter  of  grateful  acknowledgment ;  in  which,  after  hav- 
ing received  Lady  Pelham's  approbation,  she  inclosed  his  gift,  ex- 
plaining-the  circumstances  which  now  rendered  it  unnecessary. 

Lady  Felham  was  not  more  favourable  to  the  rest  of  the  De 
Courcy  family  than  she  had  been  to  Montague.  She  owned,  indeed, 
that  Mrs.  Die  Courcy  was  the  hest  woman  in  \h&  world,  but  a  vir. 


^2 

tiiie,  she  said,  so  cased  in  armour,  necessarily  precluded  all  grace 
or  attraction  Harriet,  she  characterized  as  a  little  sarcastic  co- 
quette Lavira,  weary  of  being  exposed  to  the  double  peril  of 
Aveakly  defending-,  or  anj^rily  supporting"  her  attacked  friends, 
ceased  to  mention  the  De  Courcys  at  all ;  though,  with  a  pardona- 
ble spirit  of  contradiction,  she  loved  them  the  better  for  the  un- 
provoked hostility  of  Lady  Pelham.  The  less  she  talked  of  them, 
the  more  she  long-ed  for  the  time,  when  she  might,  unrestrained, 
exchange  with  them  testimonies  of  regard.  The  trees  in  the  Park, 
as  they  burst  into  leaf,  stimuls^ted  Laura's  desire  for  the  country  ; 
and  while  she  felt  the  genial  air  of  spring,  or  listened  to  the  early 
song  of  some  luckless  bird  caged  in  a  neighbouring  window,  or 
saw  the  yellow  glories  of  the  crocus  peeping  from  its  unnatural 
sanctuary,  she  counted  the  days  till  her  eyes  should  be  gladdened 
with  the  joyous  face  of  nature.  Only  a  foi*tnight  had  now  to  pass 
before  her  wish  was  to  be  gratified,  for  Lady  Pelham  intended  at 
the  end  of  that  time  to  remove  to  Walbourne. 

Laura  was  just  giving  the  finishing  touches  to  her  aunt's  por- 
trait when  a  visitor  was  announced ;  and,  very  unwilling  to  break 
off  at  this  interesting  crisis,  Lady  Pelham  having- first  scolded  the 
servant  for  letting  in  her  friend,  desired  him  to  shew  the  lady  into 
the  room  where  Laura  was  at  work.  The  usual  speeches  being 
made,  the  lady  began — "  Who  does  your  ladyship  think  bowed  to 
me  en  passant  just  as  I  was  getting  out  of  the  carriage  ? — Why, 
liSidy  Bellamer  ! — Can  you  conceive  such  effrontery  ?"  "  Indeed, 
I  think,  in  common  modesty,  slie  should  have  waited  for  your  no- 
tice !*'  "  Do  you  know,  I  am  told  on  good  authority  that  Hargrave 
is  determined  not  to  marry  her."  Laura's  breath  came  short— 
**  He  is  very  right,"  returned  Lady  Pelham.  "  A  man  must  be  a 
great  fool  to  marry  where  he  has  had  such  damning*  proofs  of  frail- 
ty." Laura's  heart  seemed  to  pause  for  a  moment,  and  then  to  re- 
double its  beating. — "  What  Hargrave  can  this  be  ?"  thought  she  ; 
but  she  durst  not  inquire.  **  I  hear,"  resumed  the  lady,  "  that 
his  uncle  is  enraged  at  liim,  and  moi'e  for  the  duel  than  the  crim. 
con.^'  The  pencils  dropped  from  Laura's  hand. — Fain  would  she 
have  inquired,  what  she  yet  so  much  dreaded  to  know ;  but  her 
tongue  refused  its  ofiice.  "  I  see  no  cause  for  that,"  returned 
Lady  Pelham  ;  *'  Hargrave  could  not  possibly  refuse  to  fight  after 
such  an  affair.  "  Oh  certainly  not !"  replied  the  lady  ;  "  but  Lord 
Lincourt  tliinks,  that  in  such  a  ch&j,  Hargrave  ought  to  have  in- 
sisted upon  giving  Lord  Bellamer  the  first  fire,  and  then  have  fired 
his  own  pistol  in  the  air. — But,  bless  me  what  ails  Miss  Montre- 
ville,"  cried  the  visitor,  looking  at  Laura,  who,  dreadfully  convin- 
ced, was  stealing  out  of  the  room.  "  Nothing,"  answei*ed  Laura ; 
and  fainted. 

Lady  Pelham  called  loudly  for  help ;  and,  while  the  servants 
were  administering  it,  stood  by  conjecturing  what  coidd  be  the 
cause  of  Laura's  illness  ;  wondering  whether  it  could  have  any 
possible  connexion  with  Colonel  Hargrave  j  or  whether  it  wer^. 
thp  effect  of  mere  constitutional  habit* 


23 

The  moment  Laura  shewed  signs  of  recollection,  Lady  Pelliam 
beg-an  her  interrogations.  "  What  has  been  the  matter  my  dear? 
What  made  you  ill  ?  Did  any  thing  affect  you  ?  Are  you  subject 
to  falntings  ?"  Laura,  remained  silent,  and  closing  her  eyes,  seem- 
ed deaf  to  all  her  aunt's  questions.  After  a  pause,  Lady  Pelham 
renewed  the  attack  — "  Have  you  any  concern  with  Colonel  Har- 
grave,  Laura  ?"  "  None,"  answered  Laura,  with  a  smile  of  ineffa- 
ble bitterness  ;  and  again  closing  her  eyes,  maintained  an  obstinate 
silence.  Weary  ofineffectual  inquiries.  Lady  Pelham  quitted  her, 
giving  orders,  that  she  should  be  assisted  into  bed,  recommend- 
ing to  lier  to  take  some  rest. 

Vain  advice  !  Laura  could  not  rest !  From  the  .stupor  which 
had  o^  erpowered  her  faculties,  she  awoke  to  the  full  conviction, 
that  all  her  earthly  prospects  were  for  ever  darkened.  Just  en- 
tering on  liff,  she  seemed  already  forsaken  of  all  its  hopes,  and  all 
its  joys.  The  affections  which  had  delighted  her  youth  were  torn 
from  the  bleeding  soul ;  no  sacred  connexion  remained  to  bless  her 
maturity ;  no  endearment  awaited  her  decline.  In  all  her  long 
and  dreary  journey  to  the  gi*ave,  she  saw  no  kindly  resting  place. 
Still  Laura's  hopes  and  wishes  had  never  been  bounded  to  this 
narrow  sphere  ;  and  when  she  found  here  no  rest  for  the  sole  of 
her  foot,  she  had,  in  the  promises  of  religion,  an  ark  whither  she 
could  turn  for  shelter  But  how  should  she  forget  that  these  pro- 
mises extended  not  to  Hargrave.  How  shut  her  ear  to  the  dread 
voice  which,  in  threatening  the  adulterer  and  the  murderer,  de- 
nounced vengeance  against  Uargrave  !  AVith  horror  unspeakable 
she  considered  his  incorrigible  depravity;  with  agony,  revolved  its 
fearful  consequences 

Yet,  while  \he  guilt  was  hateful  in  her  eyes,  her  heart  was  full 
of  love  and  compassion  for  the  offender.  The  feeling  with  which 
she  remembered  his  unfaithfulness  to  her  had  no  reseniblance  to 
jealousy.  "  He  has  been  misled,"  she  cried ;  "  vilely  betrayed  by 
a  wretch,  who  has  taken  advantage  of  his  weakness.  Oh  how  could 
she  look  on  that  form,  that  countenance,  and  see  in  them  only  the 
objects  of  a  passion,  vile  as  the  heart  that  cherished  it  " — Then 
she  would  repent  of  her  want  of  candour.  *•  1  am  unjiist,  I  am  cruel," 
she  said,  "  thus  to  load  with  all  the  burden  of  this  foul  o'ience,  her 
who  had  perhaps  the  least  share  in  it.  No  !  He  must  have  been 
the  tempter  ;  it  is  not  in  woman  to  be  so  lost.** 

But  in  the  midst  of  sorrow,  whose  violence  seemed  at  times  al- 
most to  confuse  her  reason,  she  never  hesitated  for  a  moment  on 
the  final  dissolution  of  her  connexion  with  Hargrave.  She  formed 
no  resolution  on  a  subject  where  no  alternative  seemed  to  remain, 
but  assumed,  as  the  foundation  of  all  her  plans  of  joyless  duty,  her 
eteriial  separation  from  Hargrave  ;  a  separation  hnal  as  death. — 
By  degrees  she  became  more  able  to  collect  her  thoughts  ;  and  ihe 
close  of  a  sleepless  night  found  her  exercising-  the  valuable  habit 
of  seeking  in  herself  the  cause  of  her  misfortunes.  The  issue  of 
her  self-examination  was  the  conviction,  that  she  had  bestowed  on 
9.  frail  faUiblc  creature,  a  love  disproportioned  \o  the  merits  of  arr 


24 

created  thinff ;  that  she  had  obstinately  clung  to  her  idol  after  she 
had  seen  its  baseness  ;  and  that  now  the  broken  reed  whereon  she 
had  lea»ed  was  taken  away,  that  she  might  restore  her  trust  a«d 
her  love  where  alone  they  were  due  That  time  infallibly  brings 
comfort  even  to  the  sorest  sorrows — that  if  we  make  not  shipwreck 
•f  faith  and' a  good  conscience,  we  save  from  the  storms  of  life  the 
materials  of  peace  at  least— that  lesser  joys  become  valuable  when 
we  are  deprived  of  those  of  keener  relish — are  lessons  which  even 
experience  teaches  but  slowly  ;  and  Laura  had  them  yet  in  a  great 
measure  to  learn.  She  was  persuaded  that  she  should  go  mourn- 
ing to  the  grave.  What  yet  remained  of  her  path  of  life  seemed 
to  lie  through  a  desert  waste,  never  more  to  be  warmed  with  the 
sunshine  of  affection  ;  never  more  to  be  brightened  with  any  ray 
of  hope,  save  thai  which  beamed  from  beyond  the  tomb.  She  im- 
agined, that  lonely  and  desolate  she  should  f)ass  through  life,  and 
joyfully  hail  the  messenger  that  called  her  away  ;  like  some 
wretch,  who,  cast  alone  on  a  desert  rock,  watches  for  the  sail  that 
is  to  waft  him  to  his  native  land. 

The  despair  of  strong  minds  is  not  listless  or  inactive.  The 
more  Laura  was  convinced  that  life  was  lost  as  to  ail  its  pleasing 
purposes,  the  more  was  she  determined  tliat  it  should  be  subser- 
vient to  useful  ends.  Earthly  felicitj,  she  was  convinced,  had 
fled  for  ever  from  her  grasp  ;  and  the  only  resolution  she  could 
form,  was  never  more  to  pursue  it ;  but,  in  the  persevering  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  which  yet  remained  to  her,  to  seek  a  prepa- 
ration for  joys  which  earth  has  not  to  bestow.  That  she  might 
not  devote  to  fruitless  lamentatitm  the  time  which  was  claimed  by 
duty,  she,  as  soon  as  it  was  day,  attempted  to  rise,  intending  ta 
spend  the  morning  in  acts  of  resignation  for  herself,  and  prayers 
tnat  pardon  iiud  repcntatice  might  be  granted  to  him  whose  g-tiilt 
had  destroyed  her  peace.  But  her  head^as  so  giddys  that,  una- 
ble to  stand,  she  was  obliged  to  return  to  her  bed.  It  was  long 
ere  she  was  again  able  to  quit  it.  A  slow  fever  seized  her,  and 
brought  her  to  the  brink  of  the  grave.  Her  senses,  however,  re- 
mained uninjured,  and  she  had  full  power  and  leisure  to  make 
those  reilections  which  force  themselves  upon  all  who  are  sensible 
of  approaching  dissolution.  Happy  were  it,  if  all  who  smait  under 
disappointment,  would  anticipate  the  hour  which  will  assuredly 
arrive,  when  the  burden  which  they  impatiently  bear  shall  appear 
to  be  lighter  than  vanity  !  The  bund  which  is  soon  to  be  cold,  re- 
signs without  a  struiygle  the  baubles  of  the  world.  Its  cheats  de- 
lude not  tlie  eye  that  is  for  ever  closing.  A  deathbed  is  that  holy 
ground  where  the  charms  of  the  enchanter  are  dissolved  ;  whei-e 
the  forms  which  he  had  cloihed  with  unreal  beauty,  or  aggravated 
to  gigantic  horror,  are  seen  in  their  true  form  and  colouring.  In 
its  true  form  and  colouring  did  Laura  behold  her  disuppointments  ; 
when,  with  characteristic  firmness,  she  had  wrung  from  her  at- 
tendants a  confession  of  her  danger.  With  am  i/.enient  she  looked 
back  on  the  infaturttion  which  could  waste  on  any  concern  less 
than  etemaJ,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  and  the  wishes  which  she  had 


25 

squamleredon  a  passion  which  now  seemed  tnviar.as  the  vapour 
scattered  by  the  wind.  ' 

At  last,  aided  by  the  rigid  temperance  of  her  former  life,  and 
her  exemplary  patience  in  siifFering-,  the  strength  of  her  constitu- 
tion began  to  triumph  over  her  disorder.  As  she  measured  back 
her  steps  to  earth  again,  the  concerns  which  liad  seemed  to  her 
reverting  eye  diminished  into  nothing,  again  swelled  into  import- 
ance ;  but  Laura  could  not  soon  forget  the  time  when  she  had  seen 
them  as  they  were  ;  and  this  remembrance  powerfully  aided  her 
mind  in  its  struggle  to  cast  off  its  now  disgraceful  shackles.  Yet 
bitter  was  tlie  struggle ;  for  what  is  so  painful  as  to  tear  at  once 
from  the  bfeast  what  has  twined  itself  with  every  fibre,  linked 
itself  with  every  hope,  stimulated  every  desire,  and  long  furnished 
objects  of  intense,  of  unceasing  interest.  The  heart  which  death 
leaves  desolate,  slowly  and  gently  resigns  the  affection  to  which 
it  has  fondly  clung.  It  is  permitted  to  seek  indulgence  in  virtu- 
ous sorrow,  to  rejoice  in  religious  hope;  and  even  memory  brings 
pleasures  dear  to  the  widowed  mind.  But- she  who  mourned  the 
depravity  of  her  lover,  felt  that  she  was  degraded  by  her  sorrow ; 
hope  was,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  utterly  extinguished ;  and 
memory  presented  only  a  mortifying  train  of  weaknesses  and  self- 
deceptions. 

But  love  is  not  that  irremediable  calamity  which  romance  has 
delighted  to  paint,  and  the  vulgar  to  believe  it.  Time,  vanity,  ab- 
sence,  or  any  of  a  hundred  other  easy  remedies,  serves  to  cure  the 
disease  in  the  mild  form  in  which  it  affects  feeble  minds,  while 
more  Herculean  spirits  tear  off  the  poisoned  garment,  though  it  be 
with  mortal  anguish.  In  a  few  weeks,  the  passion  which  had  so 
long  disturbed  the  peace  of  Laura  was  hushed  to  lasting  repose  ; 
but  it  was  the  repose  of  the  land  where  the  whirlwind  has  passed  ; 
dreary  and  desolate.  Her  spirits  had  received  a  shock  from 
which  it  was  long,  very  long,  ere  she  could  rouse  them.  And  he 
who  had  ceased  to  be  an  object  of  passion,  still  excited  an  interest 
which  no  other  human  being  could  awaken.  Many  a  wish  did  she 
breathe  for  his  happiness  ;  many  a  fervent  prayer  for  his  reforma- 
tion. In  spite  of  herself,  she  lamented  the  extinguished  love,  as 
well  as  the  lost  lover ;  and  never  remembered,  without  a  heavy 
sigh,  that  the  season  of  enthusiastic  attachment  was,  with  her, 
passed  never  to  return. 

But  she  cordially  wished  that  she  might  never  again  behold  the 
cause  of  so  much  anguish  and  humiliation.  She  longed  to  be  distant 
from  all  chance  of  such  a  meeting,  and  Was  anxious  to  recover 
strength  sufficient  for  her  journey  to  Walbourne.  Lady  Pelliam 
only  waited  for  her  niece's  recovery  ;  and,  as  soon  as  she  could 
bear  the  motion  of  a  carriage,  they  left  London. 


26- 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


They  travelled  slowly,  and  Laura's  health  seemed  improved 
hy  the  journey.  The  reviving-  breeze  of  early  spring,  the  grass 
field  exchanging  its  w-nter  olive  for  a  brighter  green,  the  plough- 
^nan's  cheerful  labour,  the  sower  whisthng  to  his  measured  step, 
die  larch  trees  putting  forth  the  first  and  freshest  verdure  of  th« 
woods,  the  birds  springing  busy  from  the  thorn,  were  objects  whose 
cheerful  influence  would  have  been  lost  on  many  a  querulous  child 
of  disappointment.  But  they  were  industriously  improved  to  their 
proper  use  by  Laura,  who  acknowledged  in  them  tlie  kindness  of  a 
father,  mingling  with  some  cordial  drop  even  the  bitterest  cup  of 
sorrow.  The  grief  which  had  fastened  on  her  heart  she  never  ob- 
truded upon  her  companion.  She  behaved  always  with  composure, 
sometimes  with  cheerfulness.  S>he  ne\er  obliquely  reflected  upon 
Providence,  by  insinuations  of  the  hai-dness  of  her  fate,  nor  in- 
dulged  in  splenetic  dissertations  on  the  inconstancy  and  treachery 
of  man.  Indeed,  she  never,  by  the  most  distant  hint,  approached 
the  ground  of  her  own  peculiar  sorrow.  She  could  not,  without 
the  deepest  humiliation,  reflect  that  she  had  bestowed  her  love  on 
an  object  so  unworthy.  She  burnt  with  shame  at  the  thought  of 
having  been  so  blinded,  so  infatuated,  by  qualities  merely  external. 
While  she  remembered,  with  extreme  vexation,  that  she  had  suf- 
fered Hargrave  to  triumph  in  the  confession  of  her  regard,  she 
rejoiced  that  no  other  witness  existed  of  her  folly— that  she  had 
jiever  breathed  the  mortifying  secret  into  any  other  ear. 

In  th.s  frame  of  mind,  she  repelled  with  calm  dignity  every  at- 
tempt which  Lady  Pelham  made  to  penetrate  her  sentiments  ;  and 
behaved  in  such  a  manner  that  her  aunt  could  not  discover  whe- 
ther her  spirits  were  affected  by  languor  of  body  or  by  distress  of 
mind.  Laura,  indeed,  had  singular  skill  in  the  useful  art  of  repul- 
sing without  offence ;  and  Lady  Ptlham,  spite  of  her  curiosity, 
found  it  impossible  to  question  her  niexe  with  fieedom.  Notwith- 
standing her  youth,  and  her  alntiost  dependent  situation,  Laui'a  in- 
spired Lady  Pelham  with  involuntary  awe.  Her  dignifiwd  manners, 
her  vigorous  understanding,  the  inflexible  integj-ity  which  descend- 
ed even  to  the  regulation  of  her  forms  of  speecn,  extoited  some 
degree  of  respectful  caution  fi  om  one  not  usually  over  careful  of 
giving  offence.  Lady  Pelham  was  herself  at  times  conscious  of  this 
restraint;  and  her  piide  was  wounded  by  it.  In  Lauia's  absence 
she  sometimes  thought  of  it  with  impatience,  and  resolved  to  cast 
it  oft' at  their  next  interview  ;  but  whenever  they  met,  the  unoffend- 
ing majesty  of  Lau^aeflfacedher  resolution,  or  awed  her  from  put- 
ting it  in  practice.  She  could  not  always,  however,  refrain  from 
usii^g  that  sort  of  innuendo  which  is  vulgarly  called  talking  at  one's 
coinpanio.is  ;  a  sort  of  rhetoric  in  great  request  with  those  who 
have  more  spleen  than  courage,  and  wiiich  dififers  from  common 
Ecolding  only  in  being  a  little  more  cowardly  and  a  little  more  pro- 
voking.    AU  her  ladyship's  dexterity  and  perseverance  in  this  wav 


27 

tare  were  entirely  thrown  away.  "Whatever  might  be  meant,  Laura 
answert  d  to  nothing-  but  what  met  the  ear ;  and,  with  perverse 
simplicity,  avoided  the  particular  application  of  general  proposi- 
tions. Lady  Pelham  next  tried  to  coax  herself  into  Laura's  confi- 
dence. She  redoubled  her  caresses  and  professions  of  affection.  She 
hinted,  not  obscurely,  that  if  Laura  would  explain  her  wishes, 
they  would  meet  with  indulgence,  and  even  assistance,  from  zeal- 
ous friendship.  Her  professions  were  received  with  gratitude — 
her  caresses  returned  with  sensibility ;  but  Laura  remained  im- 
penetrable. Lady  Pelham's  temper  could  never  brook  resistance  ; 
and  she  would  turn  from  Laura  in  a  pet : — the  pitiful  garb  of  an- 
ger which  cannot  disguise,  and  dares  not  show  itself.  But  Laura 
never  appeared  to  bestow  the  slightest  notice  on  her  caprice,  and 
received  her  returning  smiles  with  unmoved  complacency.  Laura 
would  fain  have  loved  her  aunt  ;  but  in  spite  of  herself,  her  affec- 
tion took  feeble  root  amidst  these  alternations  of  frost  and  sunshine. 
She  was  weaiy  of  hints  and  insinuations  ;  and  felt  not  a  little  pleased 
that  Lady  Pelham's  fondness  for  improving  and  gardening  seemed 
likely  to  release  her,  during  most  of  the  hours  of  daylight,  from 
this  sort  of  sharpshooting  warfare. 

It  was  several  days  after  their  arrival  at  Walboume  before  they 
were  visited  by  any  of  the  De  Courcy  family.  Undeceived  in  his 
hopes  of  Laura's  regard,  Montague  was  almost  reluctant  to  see 
her  again.  Yet  from  the  hour  when  he  observed  Lady  Pelham's 
carriagfe  drive  up  the  avenue,  he  had  constantly  chosen  to  study 
at  a  window  which  looked  towards  Walboume.  Laura,  too,  often 
looked  towards  Norwood,  excusing  to  herself  the  apparent  neglect 
of  her  friends,  by  supposing  that  they  had  not  been  imformed  of 
her  arrival.  Lady  Pelham  was  abroad  superintending  her  gar- 
deners, and  Laura  employed  in  her  own  apartment,  when  she  was 
called  to  receive  De  Courcy.  For  the  first  time  since  the  wreck 
of  all  her  hopes,  joy  flushed  the  wan  cheek  of  Laura,  and  fired  her 
«ye  with  transient  lustre.  "  1  shall  hear  the  voice  of  friendship 
once  more,"  said  she,  and  she  hastened  down  stairs  with  more 
speed  than  suited  her  but  half- recovered  strength.  "  Dear  Mr.  De 
Courcy  !"  she  cried,  joyfully  advancing  towards  him.  De  Courcy 
scarcely  ventured  to  raise  his  eyes,  Laura  held  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "  She  loves  a  libertine  !"  thought  he,  and,  scarcely  touching 
it,  he  drew  back.  With  grief  and  surprise,  Laura  read  the  cold 
and  melancholy  expression  of  his  face.  Her  feeble  spirits  failed 
under  so  chilling  a  reception  ;  and  while,  in  a  low  tremulous  voice, 
she  inquired  lor  Mrs.  and  Miss  De  Courcy,  unbidden  tears  wan- 
dered down  her  cheeks.  In  replying,  Montague  again  turned  his 
eyes  towards  her  ;  and,  shocked  at  the  paleness  and  dejection  of 
her  altered  countenance,  remembe)ed  only  Laura  ill  and  in  sorrow. 
"  Good  Heavens  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  voice  and  manner  of  the 

tenderest  interest,  "  Laiu-a Miss  Montreville,  you  are  ill— }ou 

are  unhappy !"  Laura,  vexed  that  her  weakness  should  thus  extort 
compassion,  hastily  dried  her  tears.  «  I  have  been  ill,"  said  she, 
"  and  am  still  so  weak  that  any  trifle  can  discompose  me,"    Moft- 


28 

tague*s  colour  rose  "  It  Is  then  a  mere  ti'ifle  in  her  eyes,"  thought 
he,  "  that  I  should  meet  her  with  coldness."  "  And  yet,"  con- 
tinued Laura,  reading  mortification  in  his  face,  **  it  is  no  trifle  to 
fear  that  I  have  given  ofTence  where  1  owe  so  much  gratitude." — 
•*  Talk  not  of  gratitude,  I  beseech  you,"  said  De  Courcy,  "  I  have 
no  claim,  no  wish,  to  excite  it."  *'  Mr.  IJe  Courcy,"  cried  Laura, 
bursting  into  tears  of  sad  remembrance,  **  has  all  your  considerate 
friendship,  all  your  soothing  kindness  to  him  who  is  gone,  no  claim 
to  the  gratitude  of  his  child  !"  Montague  felt  that  he  stood  at  this 
moment  upon  dangerous  ground,  and  he.gladly  availed  himself  of 
this  opportunity  to  quit  it.  He  led  Laura  to  talk  of  her  father,  and 
of  the  circumstances  of  his  death  ;  and  was  not  ashamed  to  mingle 
sympathetic  tears  with  those  which  her  narrative  wrung  from  lier. 
In  her  detail,  she  barely  hinted  at  the  labour  by  which  she  had  sup- 
ported her  father ;  and  avoided  all  alluiion  to  the  wants  which  she 
had  endured.  If  any  thing  could  have  exalted  her  in  the  opinion 
of  De  Courcy,  it  would  have  been  the  humility  which  sought  no 
praise  to  recompense  exertion — no  admiration  to  reward  self- 
denial,  *'  The  praise  of  man  is  with  her  as  nothing,"  though  he, 
gazing  on  her  wasted  form  and  faded  features  with  fonder  adora- 
tion than  ever  he  had  looked  on  her  full  blaze  of  beauty.  "  She 
has  higher  hopes  and  nobler  aims.  And  can  such  a  creature  love 
a  sensualist ! — Now,  too,  when  his  infamy  cannot  be  unknown  to 
her  !  Yet  it  must  be  so — she  has  never  named  him,  even  while 
describing  scenes  where  he  was  daily  present ;  and  why  this  si- 
lence, if  he  were  indifferent  to  her  ?  If  I  durst  mention  him  ! — but 
I  cannot  give  her  pain." 

From  this  reverie  De  Courcy  was  roused  by  the  entrance  of 
Lady  Felham,  whose  presence  brought  to  his  recollection  the 
compliments  and  ceremonial  which  Laura  had  driven  from  his 
mind.  He  apologized  for  having  delayed  his  visit  ;  and  excused 
himself  for  having  made  it  alone,  by  saying  that  his  sister  was 
absent  on  a  visit  to  a  friend,  and  that  his  mother  could  not  yet 
venture  abroad;  but  he  warmly  entreated  that  the  ladies  would 
wave  etiquette,  and  see  Mrs.  De  Courcy  at  Norwood.  Lady  Pel- 
ham,  excusing  herself  for  the  present  on  the  plea  of  her  niece's 
indisposition,  urged  De  Courcy  to  direct  his  walks  often  towards 
Walbourne  ;  in  charity,  she  said,  to  Laura,  who  being  unable  to 
take  exercise,  spent  her  forenoons  alone,  sighing,  she  supposed, 
for  some  Scotch  Strephon.  Laura  blushed  ;  and  Montague  took 
his  leave,  pondering  whether  the  blush  was  deepened  by  any  feel- 
ing of  consciousness. 

"  She  has  a  witchcraft  in  her  that  no  language  can  express — 

no  heart  withstand ^,"  said  De  Couixy,  suddenly  breaking  a 

long  silence,  as  he  and  his  mother  were  sitting  tete-^-t^te  after 
dinner.  •'  Marriage  is  an  excellent  talisman  against  witchcraft," 
said  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  gravely  ;  "  but  Miss  Montreville  has  charms 
that  will  delight  the  more  the  better  they  are  known.  There  is 
such  noble  simplicity,  such  considerate  benevolence,  such  total 
absence  of  vanity  and  selfishness  in  her  character,  tfcsit  no  womaji 


29 

WIS  ever  better  fitted  to  embellish  and  endear  domcslic  lii^. 
•«  Perhaps  in  time,"  pursued  l)e  Coi'jcy,  "  I  might  have  become. 
notunwori.hy  of  such  a  companion — But  now  it  matters  not," — 
and,  suppressing  a  very  bitter  sigh,  he  took  up  a  book  which  h^. 
hud  of  late  been  reading  to  Ins  mother  *•  You  know,  Montague," 
said  Mrs.  Ue  Uourcy^"  1  think  difierently  from  you  upon  this  sub- 
ject. 1  am  widely  mistaken  in  xVIiss  Montreville,  if  she  could  be- 
stow her  preference  on  a  Ubertmc,  knowing  him  to  be  such." 
Montague  took  involuntary  pleasure  in  hearing  this  opinion  re- 
peated ;  ye .  he  had  less  faith  in  it  than  he  usually  had  in  the  opi- 
nions of  his  mother.  "  After  the  emotion  which  his  presence  ex- 
cited," returned  he, — "  an  emotion  which  even  these  low  people — 
I  cannot  think  of  it  with  patience,"  cried  he,  tossing  away  the 
book,  and  walking  hastily  up  and  down  the  room.  "  To  betray 
her  weakness,  her  enly  weakness,  to  such  observers — to  the  wretch 
-himself"  '*  My  dear  De  Courcy,  do  you  make  no  allowance  for 
the  exaggeration,  the  rage  for  the  romantic,  so  common  to  unedu- 
cated minds?"  "  Wilkins  could  have  no  motive  for  inventing 
such  a  tale,"  replied  De  Courcy  ;  **  and  if  it  had  any  foundation, 
there  is  no  room  for  doubt."  *'  Admitting  the  truth  of  all  you 
have  heard,"  resumed  Mrs  De  Courcy,  "  I  see  no  reason  for  des- 
pairing of  success.  If  I  know  any  thmg  of  character.  Miss  Mon- 
treville's  attachments  will  ever  follow  excellence,  real  or  imagina- 
ry. Your  worth  is  real,  Montague  ;  and,  as  such,  it  will  in  time 
approve  itself  to  her."  "  Ah,  Madam,  had  her  affection  been 
founded  even  on  imaginary  excellence,  must  it  not  now  have  been 
completely  ^^iihdrawn — now,  when  she  cannot  be. unacquainted 
with  his  depravity.  Yet  she  loves  him  still.  I  am  sure  she  loves 
him.  Why  else  this  guarded  silence  in  regard  to  him  ? — Why  not 
mention  that  she  permitted  his  daily  visits — saw  him  even  on  the 
night  when  her  father  died  ?"  *'  Supposing,"  retumed  Mrs.  De 
Courcy,  "  that  her  affection  had  been  founded  on  imaginary  ex- 
cellence, might  not  traces  of  the  ruins  remain  perceptible,  even 
after  the  foundation  had  been  taken  away  ?  Come,  come,  Monta- 
gue, you  are  only  four-and -twenty,  you  can  afford  a  few  years  pa- 
tience If  you  act  prudently,  I  am  convinced  that  your  perseve- 
rance will  succeed  ;  but  if  it  should  not,  I  know  how  you  can  bear 
disappointment.  I  am  certain  that  your  happiness  depends  not 
on  the  smiie  of  any  face,  however  fair."  "  I  am  ashamed, '  said 
De  Courcy,  "  to  confess  liovv  much  my  peace  depends  upon  Lau- 
ra. You  know  I  have  no  ambition— all  my  joys  must  be  domes- 
tic. It  is  as  a  husband  and  a  father  that  all  my  wishes  must  be 
fulfilled — and  all  that  I  have  ever  fancied  of  venerable  and  endear- 
ing, so  meet  in  her,  that  no  other  woman  can  ever  fill  her  place." 
"  Ihat  you  have  no  ambition,"  replied  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  "  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  1  join  in  your  wishes,  if  your  happiness  had  any 
connexion  with  splendour,  I  should  have  regretted  your  choice  of 
a  woman  without  fortune.  But  all  that  is  necessary  for  your  com- 
fort you  will  find  in  the  warm  ill  of  heart  with  which  Laura  will 
return  your  affection— the  soundness  of  principle  with  which  L^e 

C  2 


-nf 


30 

vvlll  assist  vou  in  your  duties.  Still,  perhaps,  you  mig-Kt  fin^l 
these  qualities  m  others,  though  not  united  in  an  equal  de^ee  ;1 
bat  I  confess  to  you,  Montague,  I  despair  of  your  again  meeting! 
With  a  woman  whose  dispositions  and  pursuits  are  so  congenial  1 
to  your  own;— a  woman,  whose  cultivated  mind  and  vigorous 
understanding,  may  make  her  the  companion  of  your  studies  as 
well  as  of  your  lighter  hours."  «  My  dear  mother,"  cried  De 
Courcy,  affectionately  grasping  her  hand,  «  it  is  no  wonder  that  I 
persecute  you  with  this  subject  so  near  ray  heart ;  for  you  al- 
ways, and  you  alone,  support  my  hopes.  Yet  should  1  even  at  last 
obtain  this  treasure,  I  must  ever  regret  that  I  cannot  awaken  the 
enthusiasm  which  belongs  only  to  a  first  attachment."  "  Mon- 
tague," said  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  smiling,  «*  from  what  romance  have 
you  learnt  that  sentiment  ?  However  I  shall  not  attempt  the  labour 
of  combating  it,  for  I  prophesy  that,  before  the  change  can  be  ne- 
cessary, you  will  learn  to  be  satisfied  with  being  loved  with  rea- 
son." "  Many  a  weary  day  must  pass  before  I  can  even  hope  for 
this  cold  preference.  Indeed,  if  her  choice  is  to  be  decided  by 
mere  rational  approbation,  why  should  I  hope  that  it  will  fall  up- 
on me  ?  Yet,  if  it  be  possible,  her  fri^^ndship  I  will  gain— and  I 
would  not  exchange  it  for  the  love  of  all  her  sex."  "  She  alrea- 
dy esteems  you — highly  esteems  you,",  said  Mrs.  De  Courcy  ; 
"  t.nd  I  repeat  that  I  think  you  need  not  despair  of  animating  es- 
teem into  a  warmer  sentiment.  But  will  you  profit  by  my  know- 
ledge of  my  sex,  Montague  ?  You  know,  the  less  use  we  make  of 
our  own  wisdom,  the  fonder  we  grow  of  bestowing  it  on  others  in 
the  form  of  advice  !  Keep  your  secret  carefully,  Montague.  Much 
of  your  hope  depends  on  your  caution.  Pretensions  to  a  pre-en- 
gaged heart  are  very  generally  repaid  with  dislike."  Montague 
promised  attention  to  his  motlier's  advice  ;  b\it  added,  that  he 
feared  he  should  not  long  be  able  to  follow  it.  "  I  am  a  bad  dis- 
sembler," said  l\e,  *'and  on  this  subject,  it  is  alleged,  that  ladies 
are  eagle-eyed."  *'  Miss  Montreville,  of  all  women  living,  has  the 
least  vanity,"  returned  IMrs.  De  Courcy  ;  **  and  you  may  always 
reinforce  your  caution,  by -recollecting  that  the  prepossession 
which  will  certainly  be  against  jouas  a  lover,  may  be  secured  in 
your  favour  as  a  friend." 

The  next  day  found  De  Courcy  again  at  Walbourne  ;  and  again 
he  enjoyed  a  loJig  and  private  interview  with  Laura.  Though 
their  conversation  turned  only  on  indifferent  subjects,  De  Courcy 
observed  tlie  settled  melancholy  which  had  taken  possession  oflier 
mind.  It  was  no  querulous  complaining  sorrow,  but  a  calm  sad- 
ness, banisliing  all  the  cheerful  illusions  of  a  life  which  it  still 
valued  as  a  preparation  for  a  better.  To  that  better  world  all  her 
hopes  and  wishes  seemed  already  fled;  and  the  saint  herself  seem- 
ed waiting,  with  resigned  desire,  for  permission  to  depart.  De 
Courcy's  fears  assigned  to  her  melancholy  its  true  cause.  He 
would  have  given  worlds  to  know  the  real  state  of  her  sentiments, 
and  to  ascertain  how  far  her  attachment  had  survived  the  crimina- 
lity of  Ilargrave.    But  he  had  not  coui-age  to  probe  tlie  painful 


31 

wound.  He  could  not  bear  to  inflict  upon  Laura  even  momentary 
ang'uish  ;  perhaps  he  even  feared  to  know  the  full  extent  of-those 
regrets  which  she  lavished  on  his  rival.  With  scrupulous  delica- 
cy he  avoided  approaching-  any  subject  which  could  at  all  lead 
her  thoughts  'towards  the  cause  of  her  sorrow,  and  never 
even  seemed  to  notice  the  dejection  which  wounded  him  to 
the  soul. 

*'  The  spring"  of  her  mind  is  for  ever  destroyed,"  said  he  to 
Mrs.  De  C'ourcy,  **  and  yet  she  retains  all  her  angelic  benevo- 
lence. She  strives  to  make  pleasing  to  others,  the  objects  that 
will  never  more  give  pleasure  to  her."  Mrs.  De  Courcy  expressed 
affectionate  concern,  but  added,  "  I  never  knew  of  a  sorrow  in- 
curable at  nineteen.  We  must  bring  Laura  to  Norwood,  and  find 
employments  for  her  suited  to  her  kindly  nature-  IMeanwhile  do 
you  exert  yourself  to  rouse  her  ;  and,  till  she  is  well  enough  to 
leave  home,  I  shall  freely  resign  to  her  all  my  claims  upon  your 
time."  De  Courcy  faithfully  profited  by  liis  mother's  permission, 
and  found  almost  every  day  an  excuse  for  visiting  Walbourne. 
Sometimes  he  brought  a  book  which  he  read  aloud  to  the  ladies  ; 
sometimes  he  borrowed  one,  which  he  chose  to  return  in  person  ; 
now  he  wished  to  show  Laura  a  medal,  and  now  he  had  some 
particularly  fine  flower-seeds  for  Lady  Pelham.  Chemical  expe- 
riments were  an  excellent  pretext  ;  for  they  were  seldom  complet- 
ed at  a  visit,  and  the  examination  of  one  created  a  desire  for 
another.  Laura  was  not  insensible  to  his  attentions.  She  believ- 
ed that  he  attributed  whatever  was  visible  of  her  depression  to 
regrets  for  her  father ;  and  she  was  by  turns  ashamed,of  permit- 
ting her  weakness  to  wear  the  mask  of  filial  piety,  and  thar.kful 
that  she  escaped  the  degradation  of  being  pitied  as  a  love-sick 
girl.  But  love  had  now  no  share  in  Laura's  melancholy.  Com- 
passion, strong  indeed  to  a  painful  excess,  was  the  only  gentle 
feeling  that  mingled  with  the  pain  of  remembering  Hargrave. 
Who  that,  in  early  youth,  gives  way  to  the  chilling  conviction, 
that  nothing  on  earth  will  ever  again  kindle  a  wish  or  a  hope,  can 
look  without  sadness  on  the  long  pilgrimage  that  spreads  before 
them  ?  Laura  looked  upon  hers  with  resigned  sadness,  and  a  thou- 
sand times  repeated  to  herself,  that  it  v  as  but  a  point,  compared 
with  ".hat  lay  beyoncL  Hopeless  of  happi'iiess,  she  yet  forced 
Jierself  to  seek  sliort  pleasure  in  the  charms  of  nature,  and  the 
comforts  of  affluence  ;  calling  them  the  flowers  wliich  a  bountiful 
hand  had  scattered  in  the  desert  which  it  was  needful  that  she 
should  tread  alone.  It  was  with  some  surprise  that  she  found 
De  Courcy's  visits  produce  pleasure  without  requiring  an  effort 
to  be  pleased  ;  and  with  thankfulness  she  acknowledged  that  the 
enjoyments  of  the  understanding  were  still  open  to  her,  though 
those  of  the  heart  were  for  ever  withdrawn. 

In  the  mean  time  her  health  improved  rapidly,  and  she  was  able 
to  join  in  Lady  Pelham's  rambles  in  the  shrubbery.  To  avoid 
particularity,  De  Courcy  had  oflen  quitted  Laura  to  attend  on 
these  excursions  ;  and  he  rejoiced  when  her  recovered  sti-englh 


31 

allowed  him  to  gratify,  without  imprudence,  the  inclination  which 
broug-ht  him  to  Walbourne.  It  often,  however,  required  all  his 
influence  to  persuade  her  to  accompany  him  in  his  walks  with 
Lady  Pelham.  Her  ladyship's  curiosity  had  by  no  means  subsid- 
ed. On  the  contrary,  it  was  rather  exasperated  by  her  conviction 
that  her  niece's  dejection  had  not  been  the  consequence  of  ill 
healtli,  since  it  continued  after  that  plea  was  removed  ;  and  Laura 
was  constantly  tormented  with  oblique  attempts  to  discover  what 
she  was  determined  should  never  be  known. 

Lady  Peiham's  attacks  were  now  become  the  more  provoking", 
because  she  could  address  her  hints  to  a  third  person,  who,  not 
aware  of  their  tendency,  mig"ht  strengthen  them  by  assent,  or  un- 
consciously point  them  as  they  were  intended  She  contrived  to 
make  even  her  very  looks  tormenting,  by  directing,  upon  suitable 
occasions,  sly  glances  of  discovery  to  Laura's  face  ;  where,  if 
they  found  out  nothing,  they  at  least  insmuated  that  there  was 
something  to  find  out.  She  was  inimitably  dexterous  and  indefat- 
igable in  improving  every  occasion  of  innuendo.  Any  subject, 
Ipwever  irrelevant,  furnished  her  with  the  weapons  of  her  war- 
fare. *'  Does  this  flower  never  open  any  further  ?"^  asked  Laura, 
shewing  one  to  De  Courcy — *'  No  "  said  Lady  Pelham,  pushing  in 
between  them  ;  *'  that  close  thing,  wrapped  up  in  itself,  never  ex- 
pands in  the  genial  warmtli ;  it  never  shews  its  heart."  *'  This 
should  be  a  precious  book  with  so  many  envelopes,"  said  Laura, 
untying  a  parcel. — "  More  likely,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  with  a 
sneer,  *'  that  what  is  folded  in  so  many  doublings  won't  be  worth 
looking  into.*  "  This  d:iy  is  cold  for  the  seasoi^,"  said  De  Courcy, 
one  day  warming  hin^stlf  after  his  ride.  "  Spring  colds  are  the 
most  chilling  of  any,"  said  Lidy  Pelham.  **  They  are  like  a  re- 
pulsive character  in  youth  ;  one  is  not  prepared  for  them.  The 
frosts  of  winter  are  natural." 

Lady  Pelham  was  not  satisfied  with  using  the  occasions  that 
presented  tliemselves  ;  she  invented  others.  When  the  weather 
confined  her  at  home,  and  she  had  nothing  else  to  occupy  her,  she 
redoubled  her  industry.  "  Bless  me,  what  a  sentiment !"  she  ex- 
claimed, aflTecting  surprise  and  consternation,  though  she  had  rt-ad 
the  book  \Xrhich  contained  it  above  twenty  times  before — *  Always 
live  with  a  friend  as  if  he  might  one  day  become  an  enemy  !»  ] 
can  conceive  nothing  more  detestable  A  cold-hearted  suspicious 
wretch  !  Now  to  a  friend  I  could  not  help  being  all  open  and  in- 
genuous ;  but  a  creature  capable  of  such  a  thought,  could  never 
have  a  friend."  Lady  Pelham  ran  on  for  a  while,  contrasting  her 
open  ingenuous  self,  with  the  odious  character  which  her  signifi- 
cant looks  appropriated  to  her  niece,  till  even  the  mild  Laura  was^ 
provoked  to  reply.  Fixing  her  eyes  upon  her  aunt  with  calm  se- 
verity, "  If  RoclKtbucault  meant,"  said  she, "  that  a  friend  should 
be  treated  witli  suspicious  confidence,  as  if  he  might  one  day  be- 
tray, I  agree  wnh  your  ladyship  in  thinking  such  a  sentiment  in- 
compatible with  friendship  ;  but  we  are  indebted  to  him  for  a  use- 
ful lesson,  if  he  merely  intended  to  remind  us,  that  it  is  easy  to 


33  *^ 

alienate  aflTectlon  without  proceeding-  to  real  injury,  and  very  pos« 
sible  to  forfeit  esteem  without  incurring-  serious  guilt.'* — The 
blood  mounted  to  Lady  Pelham's  face,  but  the  calm  austerity  of 
Laura's  eye  i.nposed  sileuce,  and  she  continued  to  turn  orer  the 
pages  of  her  book,  while  her  niece  rose  and  left  the  room.  She 
then  tossed  it  away,  and  walked  angrily  up  and  down,  fretting  be- 
tween baulked  curiosity  and  irritated  pride.  Finding-  every  other 
mode  of  attack  unsuccessful,  she  once  more  resolved  to  have  re- 
course to  direct  interrogation.  This  intention  had  been  frequent- 
ly formed,  and  as  often  defeated  by  the  dignified  reserve  of  Lau- 
ra ;  but  now  that  Lady  Pelhara  felt  her  pride  concerned,  she  grew 
angry  enough  to  be  daring.  It  was  so  provoking  to  be  kept  in  awe 
by  a  mere  girl,  a  dependent  Lady  Pelham  could  at  any  time  medi- 
tate herself  into  a  passion  ;  she  did  so  on  the  present  occasion  ; 
and  accordingly  resolved  and  executed  in  the  same  breath.  She 
followed  Laura  to  her  apartment,  determined  to  insist  upon  know- 
ing what  affected  her  spirits.  Laura  received  her  with  a  sm\le  so 
gracious,  that,  spite  of  herself,  her  wrath  began  to  evaporate. 
Conceiving  it  proper,  however,  to  maintain  an  air  of  importance, 
she  bej^an  with  an  aspect  thatannounced  hostility,  and  a  voice  in 
which  anger  increased  intended  gravity  into  surliness.  "  Miss 
Montreville,  if  ywu  are  at  leisure  I  wish  to  speak  with  you.*' 
**  Quite  at  leisure.  Madam,**  said  Laura,  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
conciliating  good  humour,  and  motioning  her  aunt  to  a  seat  by  the 
fire.  "  It  is  extremely  unpleasant,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  tossing  her 
bead  to  escape  the  steady  look  of  inquiry  which  Laura  directed 
towards  her ;  "  It  is  extremely  unpleasant  (at  least  if  one  has  any 
degree  of  sensibility)  to  live  with  persons  w  ho  always  seem  im- 
happy,  and  are  always  striving-  to  conceal  it,  especially  when  one 
can  see  no  cause  for  their  unhappiness."  "  It  must  indeed  be 
very  distressing,"  returned  Laura,  mentally  preparing  for  her  de- 
fence. "  Then  I  wonder,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  with  increased  ac- 
rimony of  countenance,  **  why  you  choose  to  subject  me  to  so  dis- 
agreeable a  situation.  It  is  very  evident  that  there  is  something 
in  your  mind  which  you  are  either  afraid  or  ashamed  to  tell."  *'  I 
am  sorry,**  said  Laura,  with  unmoved  self-possession,  •*  to  be  the 
cause  of  any  uneasiness  to  your  ladyship.  I  do  not  pretend  that 
my  spirits  are  high,  but  I  should  not  have  thought  their  depres- 
sion unaccountable.  The  loss  of  my  only  parent,  and  such  a  pa- 
rent !  is  reason  for  lasting  sorrow  ;  and  my  own  so  recent  escape 
from  the  jaws  ofthe^ave,  might  impose  seriousness  upon  levity 
itself" — "I  have  a  strong  notion,  however,  that  none  of  these  is 
the  true  cause  of  your  penseroso  humours.  Modern  misses  don't 
break  their  hearts  for  the  loss  of  their  parents. — I  remember  you 
fainted  away  just  when  Mrs.  Harrington  was  talking  to  me  of  Col- 
onel Hargrave's  affair ;  and  I  know  he  was  quartered  for  a  whole 
year  in  your  neighbourhood.'* 

Lady  Pelham  stopped  to  reconnoitre  her  niece's  face,  but  with- 
out success  ;  for  Laura  had  let  fall  her  scissars,  and  was  busily 
peeking  them  on  the  carpet.    "  Did  you  know  him  ?"    inquired 


.34, 

Ladv  ?elham.  **  I  have  seen  him,"  answered  Laura,  painfully  re^ 
collc'ctlner  bow  little  she  had  really  known  him  *'  i>,d  he  visit  at 
Glenalbert  ?"  resumed  her  ladxship,  recovering^  her  tennper,  as 
she.  thoug-ht  she  had  discovered  aclueto  l.aura  s  sentiments.  **  Yes, 
Madam,  often  "  replied  Laura  who  having-,  with  a  strong  effort, 
resumed  her  self-possession,  again  submitted  her  countenance  to 
inspection.  "  And  he  was  received  there  as  a  lover  I  pi  esume  ?" 
said  Lady  Pelham,  in  a  tone  of  interrogation.  Laura  fixed  on  her 
aunt  one  of  her  cool  commanding  glances.  "  Your  ladyship,  *  re- 
turned she,  "  seems  so  much  in  earnest,  that  if  the  question  were 
a  little  less  extraordinary,  I  should  almost  have  thought  you  ex- 
pected a  serious  answer"  Lady  Pelham 's  eyes  were  not  com- 
fortably placed,  and  she  removed  them  by  turns  to  every  piece  of 
furniture  in  the  apartment.  Speedily  recovering  herself,  she  re- 
ttirned  to  the  charge,  *'  I  think,  after  the  friendship  I  have  shewn, 
I  have  some  right  to  be  treated  with  confidence.'*  "  My  dear 
Madam,"  said  Laura,  gratefully  pressing  Lady  Pelham's  hand  be- 
tween Iter  own,  "  believe  me,  I  am  not  forgetful  of  the  kindness 
which  has  afforded  me  shelter  and  protection  :  but  there  are  some 
sidijects  of  which  no  degree  of  intimacy  will  permit  the  discus- 
sion It  is  evident,  that  whatever  proposals  have  hitherto  beett 
made  to  me,  have  received  such  an  answer  as  imposes  discretion 
on  me.  No  addresses  which  1  accept  shall  ever  be  a  secret  from, 
your  ladyship — those  which  I  reject  I  am  not  equally  entitled  to 
reveal !"  "  By  which  I  understand  you  to  say,  that  you  have  re- 
jected Colonel  Hargrave  ?"  said  Lady  Pelham,  "  By  no  means," 
answered  Laura,  with  spirit,  "  I  was  far  from  saying  so.  I  mere- 
ly intended  to  express  my  persuasion,  that  you  are  too  generous 
to  urge  me  on  a  sort  of  subject  where  I  ought  not  to  be  commu- 
nicative." "  Very  well.  Miss  Montreville,"  cried  Lady  Pelham, 
rising  in  a  pet,  *•  I  comprehend  the  terms  on  which  you  choose 
that  we  should  live.  I  may  have  the  honour  of  being  your  com- 
panion, but  I  must  not  aspire  to  the  rank  of  a  friend."  **  Indeed, 
my  dear  aunt,"  said  Laura,  in  a  voice  irresistibly  soothing,  "  I 
have  no  earthly  wish  so  strong  as  to  find  a  real  friend  in  you  :  but," 
added  she,  with  an  insinuating  smile,  "  I  shall  never  earn  the 
treasure  with  tales  of  luckless  love."  '•  Well,  Madam,"  said  Lady 
Pelham,  turning  to  quit  the  room,  "  I  shall  take  care  for  the  fu- 
ture not  to  press  myself  into  your  confidence  ;  and  as  it  is  not  the 
most  delightful  thing  in  the  world  to  live  in  the  midst  of  ambus- 
cades, 1  shall  intrude  as  little  as  possible  on  your  more  agreeable 
engagements."  "  Pray,  don't  go,"  said  Laura^  with  perfect  good 
humour,  and  holding  upon  her  delicate  fingers  a  tap  which  she 
Lad  been  making,  "  I  have  finished  your  cap.  Pray  have  the  good- 
ness to  let  me  try  it  on."  Female  vanity  is  at  least  a  sexagSnuit^e. 
Lady  Pelham  sent  a  side  glance  towards  the  cap.  "  Pray  do," 
said' Laura,  taking  her  hand,  and  coaxingly  pulling  her  back. 
"  Make  haste  then,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  sullenly,  "for  I  have  no 
time  to  spare."  "  How  becoming,"  cried  Laura,  as  she  fixed  on 
the  cap,  "  1  n^v^r  saw  you  look  sa  well  in  any  thing.    Look  at  it ;" 


and  she  held  a  looking'-glass  to  her  aunt.  The  ill  humour  whicli 
had  resisted  the  graces  of  the  loveliest  face  in  the  world,,  could 
not  stand  a  favourable  view  of  her  own  ;  and  Lady  Felham  quitted 
Laura  with  a  gracious  compliment  to  her  genius  for  millinery,  and 
a  declaration,  that  the  cap  should  be  worn  the  next  day,  in  honour 
of  a  visit  from  Mr.  I)e  Courcy  and  Harriet. 

The  next  day  the  expected  guests  dined  at  Walbourne.     As 
Harriet  had  just  returned  fiom  her  excursion,   this  was  the  first 
■    time  that  she  l.ad  seen  Laura,  and  the  meeting  gave  them  mutual 
pleasure      Harriet  seemed  jn  evon  more  than  usual  spirits  ;    and 
Laura,  roused  by  the  presence  of  perf^ons  whom  she  loved  and  re- 
spected, shewed  a  cheerfulness  more  unconstrained  than  she  had 
felt  smce  her  father's  death*     Montague,  who  watched  her  assidu- 
ously, was  enchanted  to  perceive  that  she  could  once  more  smile 
"  without  eilort ;  and,  in  the  joy  of  his  heart,  resumed  a  gaiety  which 
bad  of  late  been  foreign  to  him.     But  the  life  of  the  party  was  Lady 
.  Pfclham  ;    for  who  could  be  so  delii^htfid,  so  extravagantly  enter- 
'   taining  as  Lady  Peiham  could  be  when  she  pleased  ?  And  she  did 
please  this  afternoon  ;   for    a   train   of  fortunate   circumstance-s 
had  put  her  into  high  good  humour.     She  not  only  wore  the  be- 
coming cap  ;    but  had  hit,   without  difficulty,   the  most  becoming 
iTiode  of  putting  it  on      The  cook  had  done  her  office  in  a  manner 
altogether  faultless ;  and  the  guj-dener  had  brought  in  such  a  sallad  ! 
its  like  had  never  been  seen  in  the  country. 

Miss  Ue  Courcy  was  extremely  anxious  that  Laura  should  pass  a 

few  days  at  Norwood.     But  Laura,  remembering  the  coolness 

which  had  of  late  subsisted  between  herself  and  Lady  Peltiam, 

andtmwilling  to  postpone  her  endeavours  to  eftUce  evtry  trace  of  it, 

objected  that  she  couid  not  quit  her  aunt  for  such  a  lengtii  of  time. 

'    Harriet   immediately  proposed  to  invite  Lady  Peiham. — "  I'll  set 

about  it  this  moment,  sviiile  she's  in  the  vein,"  said  she.     "This 

sunshine  is  too  briglit  to  last."     Laura  looked  very  grave,  and 

Harriet  hastened  to  execute  her  purpose.     There  is  no  weakness 

of  their  neighbours   which  mankind  so  instinctively  convert  to 

their  ow^n   use  as  vanity.     Except  to   sectu*e   Laura's   company, 

Harriet  had  not  the  slightest  desire  for  Lady  Felham's.  Yet  she  did 

I    not  even  name  her  friend  white  she  pressed  Lady  Peiham  so  eam- 

j    «stly  to  visit  Norwood,  that  she  succt  ded  to  her  wish,  and  obtained 

I  ^  a  promise  that  the  ladies  should  accompany  her  and  her  brother 

home  on  the  following  day. 

When  at  the  close  o#  an  agreeable  evening,  Laura  attended  her 
friend  to  her  chamber,  Hairiet,  with  more  sincerity  than  polite- 
ness, regretted  that  Lady  Felham  was  to  join  their  party  to  Nor- 
wood. '•  1  wish  the  old  Ixdy  would  have  allowed  you  to  go  with- 
out her,"  said  she.  "  She'll  interrupt  a  thousand  things  I  had  to 
say^  to  you.  However,  my  mother  can  kee])  hei-  in  conversation. 
She'll  be  so  delighted  to  see  you,  that  she'll  pay  the  penalty  with- 
out a  grudge."  "  1  shall  feel  the  more  indebted  to  your  mother's 
welcome,"  said  Laura,  with  extreme  gi  uvity,  *'  be  cause  she  v*  ill 
CKteuti  it  t©  a  person  to  whom  1  owe  obligations  that  cannot  b«  re- 


36 

paid."  Harriet,  blushing,  apologized  for  her  freedom;  and  Laura 
accepting-  the  apology  with  smiles  of  courtesy  and  affection,  the 
friends  separated  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

Norwood  had  appeared  to  Laui'a  to  be  little  more  tlian  a  mile 
distant  from  Walbourne.  The  swellings  of  the  ground  had  de- 
ceived her.  It  was  more  than  twice  that  distance.  As  the  car- 
riage approached  Norwood,  Laura  perceived  traces  of  a  noble 
park,  changed  from  its  foimer  purpose  to  one  more  useful,  though 
less  magnificent.  The  corn  fields  were  intermixed  by  venerable 
avenues,  and  studded  with  gigantic  elm  and  oak.  Througii  one  of 
these  avenues,  straight  as  a  dart,  and  darkened  by  the  woods  that 
closed  over  it,  the  party  drove  up  to  a  massive  gate.  In  the  door 
of  a  turreted  lodge,  overgrown  with  hornbeam,  stood  the  grey- 
haired  porter,  waiting  their  arrival.  He  threw  open  the  gate 
■with  one  hand,  and  respectfully  stood  with  his  hat  in  the  other, 
while  De  Courcy  checked  his  horse  to  inquire  for  the  old  man's 
family. 

The  avenue  now  quitted  its  formality,  to  wind  along  the  bank  of 
a  rapid  stream,  till  the  woods  suddenly  opening  to  the  right,  dis- 
covered the  lawn,  green  as  an  emerald,  and  kept  with  a  neatness 
truly  English.  A  vaiiety  of  flowering  shrubs  were  scattered  over 
it,  and  here  and  there  a  lofty  forest-tree  threw  its  quivering  shadoM'; 
while  tall  spruce-firs,  their  branches  descending  to  the  ground, 
formed  a  contrast  to  its  verd^ire.  At  the  extremity  of  this  lawn 
stood  Norwood,  a  large  castellated  building;  and,  while  Laura  look- 
ed at  it,  she  imagined  the  interior  dull  with  baronial  magnificence. 

The  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  liaura  could  not  help  smi- 
ling at  the  cordial  welcome  that  seemed  to  await  l)e  Courcy.  The 
great  Newfoundland  dog  that  lay  upon  the  steps  leapt  upon  him, 
and  expressed  his  joy  by  a  hundred  clumsy  gambols  ;  while  John, 
the  old  servant  whom  she  had  seen  in  Audley  Street,  busied  liim- 
self  about  his  master,  with  an  officiousness  that  evidently  came 
from  the  heart,  leaving  Lady  Pelham's  attendants  to  wait  upon 
tlieir  mistress  and  her  companions.  De  Courcy,  giving  his  hand 
to  Lady  Pelham,  conducted  her,  followed  by  Harriet  and  Laura, 
into  the  room  where  Mrs  Ue  Courcy  was  sitting ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment his  heart  throbbed  with  pleasure,  while  he  saw  the  beloved 
of  his  soul  locked  in  his  m.other's  arms. 

When  tlie  first  joy  of  the  meeting  was  over,  Laura  had  leisure  to 
observe  the  interior  of  the  mansion,  which  differed  not  less  from 
her  expec  ations  than  from  any  thing  she  had  before  seen.  Though 
it  was  equally  remote  from  the  humble  simpUcity  of  her  cott'ige 
of  Glenalbert,  and  the  gaudiness  of  Lady  Pelham's  more  modern. 


37 

abode  she  saw  nothing'  of  the  gloomy  splendour  which  she  had 
fancied ;  every  thing  breathed  comfort  and  repose.  The  furniture, 
though  not  without  magnificence,  was  unadorned  and  substantial, 
grandeur  holding  the  second  place  to  usefulness.  The  marble 
nail  tlirough  which  she  had  entered,  was  almost  covered  with 
matting.  In  the  spacious  room  in  which  she  was  sitting,  the  little 
Turkey  carpet  of  our  forefathers  had  given  place  to  one  of  home- 
lier grain,  but  far  larger  dimensions.  The  apartment  was  liberally 
stored  with  couches,  footstools,  and  elbow  chairs.  A  harp  oc- 
cupied one  window,  a  piano-forte  stood  near  it ;  many  books  were 
scattered  about,  in  bindings  which  shewed  they  were  not  meant 
for  ornament :  and  in  the  chimney  blazed  a  fire  which  would  liave 
done  credit  to  the  days  of  Elizabeth. 

The  dinner  hour  was  four  ;  and  punctual  to  a  moment  the 
dinner  appeared,  plain,  neat,  and  substantial.  It  was  served  with- 
out tumult,  partaken  of  with  appetite,  and  enlivened  by  general 
hilarity  and  good  will.  When  the  ladies  rose  from  table,  Harriet 
offered  to  conduct  Laura  through  the  other  apartments,  which  ex- 
actly corresponded  with  those  she  had  seen.  The  library  was 
spacious  ;  and  besides  an  excellent  collection  of  books,  contained 
glob',  s,  astronomical  mstruments,  and  cabinets  of  minerals  and 
coins.  A  smaller  room  which  opened  from  it,  used  as  De  Courcy*s 
laboratorj',  was  filled  with  chemical  and  mechanical  apparatus. 
Comfort,  neatness,  and  peace,  reigned  every  where,  and  Nor- 
wood seemed  5  fit  retreat  for  literary  leisure  and   easy  hopitality. 

Between  music,  work,  and  conversation,  the  evening  passed 
cheerfully  away  ;  nor  did  Laura  mark  its  flight  till  the  great  house 
clock  struck  nine.  The  conversation  suddenly  paused  ;  Harriet 
laid  aside  her  work ;  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  countenance  assumed  a 
pleasing  seriousness  ;  and  Montague,  quitting  his  place  bv  Laura's 
side,  seated  himself  in  a  patriarchal-looking  chair  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  room.  Presently  John  entered,  followed  by  all  tlie  do- 
mestics of  the  family.  He  placed  before  his  master  a  reading 
desk  and  a  large  bible,  and  then  sat  down  at  a  distance  with  his 
fellow  servants 

With  a  manner  serious  and  earnest,  as  one  impressed  with  a  just 
sense  of  their  impDrtance,  Montague  read  a  portion  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  He  closed  the  volume  ;  and  all  present  sunk  upon  their 
knees.  In  plain  but  solemn  language,  he  offered  a  petition  in  the 
name  of  all,  that  all  might  be  endowed  with  the  graces  of  the 
Christian  spirit.  In  the  name  of  all  he  confessed  that  they  were 
unworthy  of  the  blessings  they  implored.  In  the  name  of  all,  lie 
gave  thanks  for  the  means  of  improvement,  and  for  the  hopes  of 
glory.  He  next,  more  particularly,  besought  a  blessing  on  the 
circumstances  of  their  several  conditions.  Among  tlie  joyous  faces 
of  this  happy  household,  Laura  had  observed  one  alone  clouded 
with  sorrow.  It  was  that  of  a  young  modest-looking  girl  in  deep 
mourning,  wliose  audible  sobs  attested  that  she  was  the  subject  of 
a  prayer  which  commended  an  orphan  to  the  Father  of  the  father- 
less.   The  worship  was  closed;  the  servants  withdrew.    A  silence 

D 


38 

af  a  few  moments  ensui^d  ;  and  Laura  could  not  help  g-azing"  with 
<lelig"ht,  not  unming-Ud  with  uwe,  on  the  traces  of  serene  benevo- 
lence and  manly  piety,  vv^iich  ling-ered  on  the  countenance  of  De 
Courcy. 

"  Happy  Harriet,"  said  she,  when  she  was  alone  with  her  friend, 
"  Wouid  that  1  had  been  >oar  sister  !'*  Harriet  laughed  **You 
need  not  laugh,  my  dear,"  continued  Laiu-a,  with  most  unembar- 
rassed simplicity,  *' I  did  not  mean  your  brother*s  wife,  but  his 
sister,  and  Mrs.  De  Courcy*s  daughter." 

Though  Miss  De  Courcy  was  much  less  in  Montague's  confi- 
dence than  her  mother,  she  was  not  ignorant  of  his  preference  for 
Laura;  but  Mrs.  De  Courcy  had  so  strongly  cautioned  her  against 
even  hinting  this  preference  to  the  object  of  it,  that,  though  she 
but  half  guessed  tlie  reasons  of  her  mother's  injunctions,  she  was 
afraid  to  disobe}-.  That  Laura  was  even  acquainted  witftHargrave 
was  unkno'.vn  to  Harriet ;  for  De  Courcy  was  almost  as  tenacious 
of  Laura's  secret  as  she  herself  was,  and  v/ould  as  soon  have  thought 
of  giving  up  his  own  heart  to  the  frolics  of  a  kitten^  as  of  exposing 
that  of  Laura  to  the  badinage  of  his  sister.  This  kind  precaution 
left  Liura  pei-fectly  at  her  ease  with  Harriet,  an  ease  which  would 
quickly  have  vanished,  had  she  known  her  to  be  acquainted  with 
her  humiliating  story. 

The  young  ladies  had  rambled  over  half  the  grounds  of  Nor- 
wood before  the  family  had  assembled  at  a  cheerful  breakfast ; 
and  as  soon  as  it  was  ended,  Harriet  proposed  that  Laura  should 
assist  her  with  her  advice  in  composing  a  water-colour  drawing 
irom  one  of  her  own  pictures.  "  We'll  leave  Lady  Pelham  and 
my  mother  in  possession  of  the  drawing  room,"  said  she,  **  for  the 
pictures  all  hang  in  the  library.  I  wanted  them  put  up  in  the  sitting- 
room/  but  Montague  would  have  them  where  they  are — and  so  ho 
carried  his  point,  for  mamma  humoui  s  him  in  every  thing."  **  Per- 
haps," returned  Laura,  "  Mrs.  De  Courcy  thinks  he  has  some 
right  to  dictate  in  his  own  house."  "  Well,  that's  true,"  cried 
Harriet,  "  I  protest  I  had  forgotten  that  this  house  was  not  my 
mother's." 

The  picture  which  Miss  De  Cwtircy  had  fixed  upon,  was  that  of 
Leonidas,  and  Luara  would  far  ratlier  have  been  excused  from  in- 
terference ;  yet,  as  she  could  not  with  propriety  escape,  nothing 
remained  but  to  summon  her  composiire,  and  to  study  anew  tl.is 
resemblance  of  her  unworthy  lover.  She  took  her  work,  and  be- 
gan quietly  to  superintend  Harriet's  progress.  Tiieir  employments 
did  not  interrupt  conversation;  aud  though  Laura  was  at  first  a 
little  embarrassed,  she  soon  recovered  her  ease.  "Do  touch  the 
outline  of  the  niouth  for  me,"  said  Harriet ;  "  I  can't  hit  the  re- 
.semblance  at  all."  Laura  excused  herseU",  saying,  that  since  her 
fever,  her  hand  had  been  unsteady.  "  Oh,  here's  Montague  ;  hs'il 
do  i'.  C.mie  hither  Montague,  and  sketch  a  much  pieltier  mouth 
th:in  your  own."  De  Courcy,  who  had  approached  his  ?iste;*  before 
he  understood  her  request,  shrunk  back.  She  could  scarcely  h:ne  i 
proposed  an  employment  less  agreeable  to  him ;  and  he  was  hastil}'^ 


39 

goinp;-  to  refuse  it,  when,  liappeninj^  to  meet  tlie  eye  of  Laura,  in 
the  dread  thai  slie  should  dettct  his  consciousness,  he  snatched 
tlie  pencil  and  beg-an. 

Harriet  having*  thus  transferred  her  work,  quickly  found  out 
otlier  occupation.  **  O,  by  the  by,'  my  dear,"  said  she  to  Laura, 
"  your  Leonidas  is  the  greatest  likeness  in  the  world  of  my  old 
bciiu.  Colonel  Harj^rave.  Bless  me,  how  she  blushes  !  Ah  !  I  see 
Hargrave  has  not  been  so  long  in  Scotland  for  nothing!"  *♦  Take 
away  that  thing,  Harriet,"  cried  l)e  Courcy,  quite  thrown  oft' his 
;^  guard,  andpushing  the  drawing  from  him.  "  I  see  no  reason  why 
trvry  both/  should  do  for  you  what  you  ought  to  be  doing  for  your- 
self" "Hey-day,  what  ails  the  man  r"  cried  Harriet,  looking  after 
her  brother  to  the  window,  whither  he  had  retreated.  *'  You  need 
not  be  angry  at  me  for  making  Laura  blush.  I  dare  say  she  likes 
it;  it  becomes  her  so  well."  '*  If  you  are  accustomod  to  say  sucli 
strange  things  to  your  friends,  my  dear  Harriet,"  said  Laura,  "  the 
blushes  you  raise  will  not  always  have  that  advantage.  The  co- 
lourings of  anger  are  not  generally  becoming."  "  So,  with  that 
meek  face  of  yours,  you  would  have  me  believe  that  it  is  down- 
li.Lfht  rage  that  has  made  you  all  scarlet.  No,  no,  my  dear— -there 
is  rage  ;  and  there  is  the  colour  of  it  too,  (pointing  to  Montague's 
face :)  and  if  you'll  put  your  two  heads  together  before  the  glass, 
\'ou  will  see  whether  the  colours  are  a  bit  alike  !'*  Montague,  re- 
covering his  temper,  tried  to  laugh,  and  succeeded  very  ill  "  I 
don't  wonder  you  laugli,"  said  Laura,  not  venturing  to  look  round 
to  liim,  **  at  hearing  Harriet  on  such  slender  grounds,  exalt  such  a 
matter-of-fact  person  as  myself,  into  the  heroine  of  a  romance.  But, 
to  spare  )  our  imagination,  Harriet,  1  will  tell  you,  that  yrjur  old 
beau,  as  you  call  him,  being  the  handsomest  man  I  had  seen,  I  saw 
no  harm  in  making  use  of  his  beauty  in  my  picture."  '*  Well,  I  pro- 
test," cried  Harriet,  "  it  was  quite  by  accident  I  thought  of  men- 
tioning it,  fo'- 1  had  not  the  least  idea  that  ever  you  had  seen  Har-* 
grave."  **  And,  nrw  that  you  have  made  that  mighty  discovery," 
said  De  Courcy,  endeavouring  to  appear  unconcerned,  "  I  suppose 
you'll  po'son  Miss  Montrcville  ;  for  you  know  you  were  so  in  love 
with  Hargrave,  that  I  was  obliged  to  put  a  rail  round  the  fish-pond 
to  prevent  feh  dc  se."  *'  In  love,''  said  Harriet,  yawning,  "  ay,  so 
1  was  indeed,  for  .three  whole  days  once  when  I  had  nothing  else  to 
do.  But  only  think  of  the  sly  girl  never  even  to  name  him  to  mc  ' 
Well !  well !  I  shall  worm  it  all  out  of  her  when  we  are  bv  ourselves, 
thoug-h  she  won't  blab  before  you."  **  I  will  give  you  an  opportu- 
nity this  moment,'  said  De  Courcy,  who,  quite  unable  to  bear  the 
subject  any  longer,  determin«;d  to  make  his  mother  inieirupt  it, 
and  immediately  went  in  search  of  her.  In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  De 
Courcy  appeared,  and  dismissed  her  unwilling  daughter  to  escort 
Lady  Pelliam  to  tlie  flower-garden,  while  Laura  preferred  remain- 
ing at  home. 

At  the  next  opportunity^  Harriet  executed  her  threat,  in  so  far 
as  (It  pended  upon  her.  She  did  what  she  could  to  rally  L&ura  out 
of  her  secret,  but  she  totally  failed  of  success.     Laura',  now  upon 


40 


1 


tier  ^uard,  not  only  evaded  making  any  discovery,  but,  by  the  easy 
indifference  of  her  answers,  convinced  Harriet  thai  there  was  no- 
thing- to  discover.  Indeed,  her  suspicion  was  nnerely  a  transient 
thought,  arising  from  LaHiVs  confusion  at  her  sudden  atUck,  and 
scarcely  outlived  the  moment  that  gave  it  birth;  though  the  emo- 
tion which  Montague  had  shewn,  confirmed  his  sister  hi  the  belief' 
of  his  attachment  to  Laura. 

The  subject  thus  entirely  dropped  which  Laura  could  never  ap- 
proach without  pain,  the  time  of  her  visit  to  Nor'.vood  glided  away 
ill  peace  and  comfort,  every  day  lessening  the  dejectiou  which  she 
had  believed,  nay  almost  wished,  would  follow  her  to  the  grave. — 
Still,  however,  the  traces  of  it  were  sufficiently  visible  to' the  ob- 
servant eye  of  love  ;  and  Montague  found  in  it  an  interest  not  to  be 
awakened  by  the  brightest  flashes  of  gaiety.  "  There  is  a  charm 
inexpressible  in  her  sadness,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  De  Caurcy.  "  I 
think,"  said  Mrs.  Dc  Courcy,  "  I  can  observe  that  that  charm  is  de- 
caying. Indeed,  I  tbink,  if  it  should  entirely  disappear  before  your 
fates  are  more  closely  united,  you  need  not  lament  its  departure.— 
Those  cypresses  look  graceful  bending  over  the  urn  therein  the 
vista,  but  I  should  not  like  them  to  darken  the  sitting-room." 

The  only  habit,  common  to  love-lorn  damsels,  in  which  Laura 
indulged,  was  that  of  preferring  solitary  rambles  ;  a  habit,  however, 
wTiich  had  been  imbibed  long  before  she  had  any  title  to  that  cha- 
racter. Delighted  with  the  environs  of  Norwood,  she  sometimes 
wandered  beyond  the  dressed  gi*6und  into  the  park,  where  art  still 
embellished  without  restraining  nature.  The  park  might,  nideed, 
have  better  deserved  the  name  of  an  ornamented  farm ;  for  the 
lawns  were  here  and  there  diversified  by  corn  fields,  and  enlivened 
by  the  habitations  of  the  labourers  necessary  to  the  agriculturist. 
These  cottages,  banished  by  fashion  far  from  every  lordly  resi- 
dence, were  contrived  so  as  to  unite  beauty  with  usefulness  ;  they 
gave  added  interest  to  the  landscape  even  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger,^ 
but  far  more  to  that  of  De  Courcy,  for  he  knew  that  every  one  of 
them  contained  useful  hands  or  grateful  hearts  :  youth  fornvhom 
he  provided  employment,  or  age  whose  past  services  he  repaid. — 
Here  the  blue  smoke  curled  from  amidst  the  thicket;  there  the 
white  wall  enlivened  the  meadow ;  here  the  casement  flashed 
bright  with  the  setting  sun  ;  there  the  woodbine  and  the  creeping 
rose  softened  the  colouring  that  would  have  glared  on  the  eye. 

Laura  had  followed  the  windings  of  a  little  green  lane,  till  the 
woods  which  darkened  is  suddenly  opened  into  a  small  field,  shel- 
tered by  them  on  every  side,  which  seemed  to  form  the  territory 
of  a  cottage  pf  singular  neatness  and  beauty.  In  a  porch  covered 
with  honeysuckle,  which  led  through  a  flower-garden  to  the  house, 
a  lovely  little  boy  about  three  years  old  was  playing  wfth  De  Cour- 
cy's  great  Newfoundland  dog.  The  child  was  stretching  on  tiptoe 
to  hug  with  one  arm  the  neck  of  his  rough  companion  ;  while, 
with  the  other  hand,  he  was  playfully  offering  the  animal  a  bit  of 
bread,  and  then  snatching  it  in  sport  away.  Neptune,  not  used  to 
be  so  tantalized,  made  a  catch  at  his  prey ';  but  the  child  succeeded 


in  preserving  his  p*iz'e,  amf,  faiierhlng',  hid  it  behind  liim.  The 
next  moment  Laura  saw  the  dog-  throw  him  down,  and  heard  a 
piercing-  cry.  Feai-less  of  personal  danger,  she  ran  to  his  assist- 
ance. The  child  was  lying-  motionless  on  his  face  ;  while,  with  one 
huge  paw  laid  on  his  back,  Neptune  was  standing  over  him,  wag- 
ging his  tail  in  trium])h.  Convinced  tliat  the  child  was  unhurt, 
and  that  the  scream  had  been  caused  merely  by  fear,  Laura  spoke 
to  the  dog,  who  immediately  quitted  his  posture  to  fawn  upon  her. 
She  lifted  the  child  from  the  ground  and  carried  him  towards  the 
cottage.  The  poor  little  fellow,  pale  with  terror,  clung  round  her 
neck;  but  he  no  sooner  saw  himself  in  safety,  than,  recovering  his 
suspended  faculties,  he  began  to  roar  with  all  his  might.  Hia  cries 
reached  the  people  in  the  house,  who  hastened  to  inquire  into  their 
cause :  and  Laura  was  met  in  the  door  of  the  cottage  by  t)e  Gourcy's 
gray-haired  servant,  John,  who  seemed  its  owner»  and  a  decent  old 
woman,  who  was  his  wife. 

Laura  prefaced  her  account  of  the  accident  by  an  assurance  that 
the  child  was.  not  hurt,  and  the  old  woman,  taking  him  in  her 
arms,  tried  to  sooth  him,  while  John  invited  Miss  Montreville  to 
enter.  She  followed  him  into  a  room,  which,  unacquainted  as  she 
was  with  the  cleanliness  of  English  cottages,  appeared  to  her 
quite  Arcadian.  \Miile  Margaret  was  busy  with  her  little  charge, 
LaUra  praised  the  neatness  and  comfort  of  John's  abode.  "It*is 
as  snug  a  place  as  heart  can  desire,  please  you,  Ma'am,"  ans  vver- 
ed  John,  visibly  gratified  ;  **  and  we  have  every  thing  here  as  con- 
ve»iient  as  in  the  king's  palace,  or  as  my  master  himself  has,  for 
ill ;  matter  of  that."  **  I  thought,  John,  you  had  lived  in  M  r.  De 
( "ourcy's  house,"  said  Laura.  **  Yes,  please  you.  Ma'am,  and  so 
I  did,  since  1  was  a  Uttle  fellow  no  higher  than  my  knee,  taken  in 
to  run  messages,  till  my  young  master  came  of  age  and  then  hfe 
built  this  hotise  for  me,  that  I  might  just  have  it  to  go  to  when  f 
pleased,  without  being  turned  away  like  ;  for  he  knew  old  folk's 
liked  to  have  a  home  of  their  own.  So  novr,  of  a  fine  evening,  I 
come  home  after  prayers,  and  stay  all  night ;  and  wlien  its  bud 
wcjtther,  I  have  the  same  bed  as  I  have  had  these  forty  years  ;  not 
a  penny  worse  than  my  master's  own."  "  .And  if  \ou  are  employ- 
ed all  dar  at  Norwood,"  s.iid  Laura,  "  how  do  you  contrive  to 
keep  your  garden  in  such  nice  order  ?"  "Oh!  for  the  matter  of 
that,'Ma*am,  my  muster  would  not  grudge  me  a  day's  work  of  the 
under  gardener  at  anytime  ;  no,  nor  to  pay  a  man  to  work  the 
little  patch  for  me  ;  but  only,  as  he  says,  the  sweetest  flowers  are 
of  one's  own  planting,  so,  of  a  fine  day  he  often  sends  me  home 
for  an  hour  or  two  in  the  cool  just  tu  put  the  little  place  in  order." 
*•  Mr.  De  Ctmrcy  seems  attentive  to  tl;e  comfort  of  every  body  that 
comes  near  him,"  said  Laura.  "  That  he  is.  Madam  ;  one  would 
think  he  had  an  affection  like,  for  every  mortal  creature,  ami  par- 
ticularly when  they  grow  old  and  useless,  like  me  and  Margaret. 
I  know  who  offertd  him  twenty  pounds  a  year  for  this  house  and 
the  hit  of  ti.  Id  ;  bi*  he  said  (»4d  fo.lks  did  not  like  moving,  and  he 
Would  not  put  us  out  of  this,  even  though  he  could  give  us  one 
d2 


twice  as  g'ood."  "  And  your  rent  is  wwer  tnati  twenty  pounds,  i 
suppose  ?"  said  Laura.  *'  Why  sure,  Ma*am,  we  never  pay  a 
penny  for  it.  My  master,"  said  John,  drawing  up  his  head,  and 
advancing-  liis  chest,  *'  my  master  has  tlie  proper  true  spirit  of  a 
gentleman,  and  he  had  it  since  ever  he  was  born  ;.  for  it's  bred  in 
the  bone  with,  him,  as  the  saying  is.  Why .  Ma'am,  he  had  it  from 
a  child  — Ihave  seen  him,  when  he  was  less  than  that  boy  there, 
give  away  his  dinner  when  he  was  as  hungry  as  a  hound,  just  be- 
cause a  beggar  asked  it.— Ay,  I  remember,  one  day,  just  two-and- 
twenty  years  ago  come  July,  that  he  was  sitting  at  the  door  on  my 
knee,  eating  his  breakfast,  and  he  l^d  asked  it  half  a  dozen 
times  from  Mrs.  Martin,  for  he  was  very  hungry  ;  and  she  did  not 
always  attend  to  hi.n  very  well.  So,  up  came  a  woman  leading  a 
little  ragged  creature  ;  and  it  looked  at  Master  Montague's  bread, 
and  milk,  and  said,  *  I  wish  I  had  some  too.'  So,  says  my  master, 
'  h<-retake  you  some,  and  I'll  take  what  you  leave.' — Well,  Ma'am, 
the  brat  snapped  it  all  up  in  a  trice,  and  I  waited  to  see  what  little 
master  would  do. — Well,  he  just  laughed, as  good  naturedly  !  Then 
I  was  going  to  have  got  him  another  breakfast,  but  my  Lady 
would  not  let  me.  *  No,  no,  John  !'  said  my  Lady,  *  we  must  teach 
Montague  the  connexion  between  genei'osity  and  self-denial.' — 
These  were  my  Lady's  very  words.' 

By  this  time  Margaret  had  succeeded  in  quieting  the  child  ;  and 
a  double  allowance  of  bread  and  butter  restored  all  his  gaiety. 
"  Come,  Nep,"  said  he,  squatting"  himself  down  on  the  ground 
where  Neptune  was  lying  at  Laura's  feet  ;  **  come,  Nep,  Til  make 
friends,  and  there's  half  for  you,  Henry's  ov.-n  dear  Nep."  "  Will 
you  sit  upon  my  knee  ?"  said  Laura,  who  was  extremely  ibnd  of 
children.  The  boy  looked  steadily  in  her  face  for  a  few  moments, 
and'then  holding  out  his  arms  to  her,  said,  "  Yes,  I  will."  **  Whose 
rliarming  child  is  this  ?"  inquired  Laura,  twisting  his  golden 
]inglets  round  her  fingers.  The  colour  rose  to  old  Margaret's 
furrowed  cheek  as  she  answered,  **  He  is  an  orphan,  Ma'am" — 
"  He  is  our  grandson,"  said  Jolm,  and  drew  his  hands  across  bis 
eyes.  Laura  saw  that  the  svibject  was  painful,  and  she  inquired 
no  further.  She  remained  for  awhile  playing  with  little  Henry, 
and  listening  to  John's  praises  of  his  master  ;  and  then  returned 
homewards. 

She  was  met  by  De  Courcy  and  Harriet,  who  were  coming  in 
search  of  her.  blie  related  her  ILitle  adventure,  and  praised  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  the  child  "Oh,  that's  Montague's  pro- 
tege !"  cried  Harriet.  •'  By  the  by  he  has  not  been  to  visit  u.s 
since  you  came  ;  I  believe  he  was  never  so  long  absent  before  since 
he  could  see.  I  have  a  great  notion  my  brother  did  not  want  to 
prcKluce  him  to  you." — "  To  me  !"  exclaimed  Laura  in  surprise  ; 
"  Why  not  ?"  But  receiving  no  answer  from  Harriet,  who  had 
been  effectually  silenced  by  a  look  from  De  Courcy,  slie  turned 
for  explanation  to  Montague;  who  made  an  aukward  attempt 
to  laugh  ofl*  his  sister's  attack,  and  ^len  as  aukwardly  changed 
the  subject. 


43 

For  some  minutes  Laura  gravely  and  silently  endeavoured  to 
account  for  his  behaviour.  "  His  g-enerosity  supports  this  child," 
thought  she,  "and  he  is  superior  to  blazoning  his  charity."  So 
having,  as  greater  philosophers  have  done,  explained  the  facts  to  > 
agree  with  her  theory,  she  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  examined 
them  no  more.  Association  carrying  her  thoughts  to  the  contem- 
plation of  the  happiness  which  De  Courcy  seemed  to  diffuse 
through  every  circle  where  be  moved,  she  regretted  that  she  was 
so  sc«i\  to  exchange  the  enjoyment  of  equable  unobtrusive  kind- 
ness, for  starts  of  officious  fondness  mingUng  with  intervals  of  cold 
neglect  or  peevish  importunity. 

"  Norwood  is  the  Eden  of  the  earth,'*  said  she  to  Harriet,  as 
they  drew  their  chairs  towards  the  fire,  to  enjoy  a  te.e-d-tete  after 
the  family  were  retired  for  the  night ;  "  and  it  is  peopled  with 
spirits  fit  for  paradise. — Happy  you,  who  need  never  think  of  leav- 
ing it !"  "  Bless  you,  my  dear,''  cried  Harriet,  •*  there  is  nothing  I 
think  of  half  so  much — You  would  not  have  me  be  an  old  maid 
to  comb  lap  dogs  and  fatten  cats,  when  I  might  be  scolding  my 
own  maids  and  whipping  my  own  children."  "  Really,"  said  Lau- 
ra, "  I  think  you  Vrould  purchase  even  these  delightful  recreations 
too  dearly  by  the  loss  of  your  present  society.  Sure  it  were  a  mad 
venture  to  change  such  a  blessing  for  any  uncertainty  !"  "  And 
yet,  Mrs.  Graveairs,  I  have  a  notion  that  a  certain  gallant  soldier 
could  inspire  you  with  the  needful  daring.—Now,  look  me  in  the 
face,  and  deny  it  if  you  can."  Laura  did  as  she  was  desired  ;  and, 
with  cheeks  flushed  to  crimson,  but  a  voice  of  sweet  austere  com- 
posure, replied,  "  Indeed,  Miss  I)e  Courcy,  I  am  hurt  that  you 
should  so  often  have  taxed  me,  even  in  sport,  with  so  discredita- 
ble a  partiality.     You  cannot  be  serious  in  supposing  that  I  would 

marry  an" adulterer,  Laura  would  have   said;  but  to  apply 

such  an  epitliet  to  Hargrave  was  too  much  for  human  firmness, 
and  she  stopped.  *'  I  declare  she  is  angry,"  cried  Harriet. 
"  Well,  my  dear,  since  it  displeases  you,  I  shan't  tease  you  any 
more  ;  at  least  not  till  I  find  a  new  subject.  But,  pray  now,  do  you 
intend  to  practise  as  you  preach.  Have  you  made  a  vow  never  to 
mai'ry  ?"  "  I  do  not  say  so,"  answered  Laura  ;  "  it  is  silly  to  as- 
sert resolutions  which  nobody  credits.  Besides,  my  situation  sad- 
ly differs  from  yours.  Like  the  moon,  that  is  rising  yonder,  I  must 
pursue  my  course  alone.  Thousands  around  me  might  perhaps 
warm  and  enlighten  me  ;  but  far  distant,  their  influence  is  lost 
ei  e  it  reaches  me.  You  are  in  the  midst  of  a  happy  family,  endear- 
ed  to  you  by  all  that  is  lovely  in  virtue  ;  all  that  is  sacred  in  kin- 
dred.— I  know  not  what  would  tempt  me  to  resign  your  situation." 
—'*  Wlir.t  woidd  tempt  you  !"  cried  Harriet.  "  Why  a  pretty  fel- 
low would.  But  I  verily  believe  you  have  been  taking  your  cue 
from  Montague  :  these  are  precisely  his  ideas.  I  think  he  has  set 
his  heart  upon  making  me  lead  apes."  "  What  make^  you  think 
so  ?"  inquired  Laura.  "  Because  he  finds  out  a  hundred  faults  to 
every  man  that  talks  nonsense  to  me.  One  is  poor.j  and  he  ihinks 
it  folly  to  marry  a  beggar.     Another  is  old,  though  he's  rich  ;  M}d 


Uiat  would  be  do\\Tjrig'htly  sellings  myself.-  One's  a  fool 
t'other's  cross  ;  and  in  shoit  there's  no  end  to  his  freaks.  0:ily 
the  otiierday  he  made  me  dismiss  a  creature  that  I  believe  I  shovdd 
have  liked  well  enoug-h  in  time.  I  have  not  lialf  forgiven  bim  for 
it  yet.  Foor  Wilmot — and  I  should  have  had  a  nice  barouche 
too  !"  "  What  could  poss  bly  weig-h  with  your  brother  ag-ainst  the 
barouche  ?"  said  Laura,  smiling-  *'  Why,  my  dear,  the  saucy 
v^etch  told  me,  as  plainly  as  he  civilly  could,  that  Wilmot  and  I 
had  not  a  grain  of  prudenct-  betwec-u  us  ;  ergo,  that  we  should  l)e 
ridiculous  and  miseriible.  Besides,  poor  Wilmot  once  persuaded 
a  preUy  girl  to  play  the  fool  ;  and  thousrh  he  afterwai'ds  did  every 
thing-  he  could  to  prevail  on  her  to  be  made,  an  ho;  est  woman,  the 
silly  thing  chose  rather  to  break  her  heart  aud  die  ;  and,  ever 
sliice,  poor  Wilmot  has  been  subject  toiits  of  low  spirits."  **  Is 
it  p  jssible,  Harriet,  that  you  can  talk  so  lig-htly  of  a'crime  so 
black  in  its  nature,  so  dreadful  in  its  consequences  ?  Can  it  seem 
a  trifle  to  you  to  destroy  the  peace,  the  innocence  of  a  fellow-crea- 
ture ?  Can  you  smile  at  remorse  that  pursued  its  victim  even  to 
the  grave  ?"  Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  Harriet,  "  Oh  no,  my  dear- 
est," she  cried,  throwing  her  arms  round  Laura's  neck  ;  *'  do  not 
think  so  hardly  of  me, — I  am  a  rattle,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  not  un- 
principled."— "  Pardon  my  injustice,  dearest  Harriet,"  said  Laura^ 
*'  in  believing,  even  for  a  moment,  that  you  were  capable  of  sugH 
perversion  ;  and  join  with  me  in  rejoicing  that  your  brother's  i':-^ 
fiuencehas  saved  you  from  witnessing",  from  sharing,  the  pangs  of 
unavailing'  repentance.''  "  In<leed,"  said  Harriet,  "  Montague's 
influence  can  do  any  tlung"  with  me  ;  and  no  v^'onder,  I  shoiild  be 
the  most  ungrateful  wretch  on  earth  if  I  could  oppose  his  wishes^ 
1  cannot  tell  you  the  thousandth  part  of  the  aftbction  he  has  shewn 
mc.  Did  you  overhear,  my  dear,  that  my  father  had  it  not  inhi» 
power  to  make  any  provision  forme?"  Laura  answered  that\8he 
had  never  heard  the  circumstances  of  the  family  at  all  mentioned. 
•'  Do  you  know, '  continued  Harriet,  "  I  am  certain  that  Montague 
is  averse  to  my  marrying-,  because  he  is  afraid  that  my  poverty, 
and  not  my  will  consents.  But  he  has  himself  set  that  matter  to 
rest;  for  the  very  morning  after  I  g-ave  VV^iimothis  co/r^'-<?,  Mon- 
tague presented  me  with  bills  for  two  thousand  pounds.  The 
generous  fellow  told  me  that  he  did  not  olfer  his  gift  while  Wil- 
mot's  suit  was  pending,  lest  I.  should  think  he  bought  a  right  to 
influence  my  decision."  "  This  is  just  whati  shoukl  have  expect- 
ed from  Mr.  De  Courcy,"  said  Laura,  the  purest  satisfaction 
beaming  in  her  countenance.  "  He  is  ever  considerate,  ever  ge- 
nerous.' *•  To  tell  you  that  he  gives  me  money,"  cried  Harriet, 
rapturously,  "  is  nothing ;  he  g-ives  me  his  tinie,  his  labour,  his 
aflfoction.  tto  love  him,  dear  Laura  !  He  is  the  best  of  all  crea- 
tures :'  ''Indeed,  I  believe  it,  said  i^ura,  "and  I  have  the 
most  cordial  regard  for  him. '— "  Ah,  but  you  must'' — Harriet's 
gratitude  ih  her  brother  had  very  nearly  been  too  strong  for  his 
secret,  and  she  w  xs  on  the  paint  of  petitioning  Laura  to  return  a 
«entiuient  warmer  ihau  cordial  regard,  when,  recollecting  her 


45 

mother^s  commands,  she   desisted  ;  and  to  fly  from  the  tempta- 
tion, wished  Laura  good  night,  and  retired. 

It  was  with  sincere  regret  that  Laura,  the  next  day,  took  leave 
of  htr  iiind  hosts.  As  De  Courcy  handed  her  into  the  carriage, 
the  tears  were  rising  to  her  eyes  :  but  ihty  were  checked  by  a 
glance  from  Lady  Pelham,  in  which  Laura  thought  she  could 
read  mingled  scorn  and  anger.  Lady  Pelham  had  remarked  the 
improved  spirit  of  her  niece  ;  but,  instead  of  rejoicing  that  any 
medicine  should  have  '  ministered  to-  a  mind  diseased,'  she  was 
offended  at  the  success  of  a  remedy  applied  by  any  otiier  than 
herself  She  was  nettled  at  perceiving  that  the  unobtrusive  seri- 
ousness of  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  and  the  ratthng  gaiety  of  Harriet,  had 
effected  what  all  her  brdliant  powers  had  not  achieved.  Her 
powers,  indeed,  had  been  sometimes  directed  to  entertain,  but 
never  to  console  ;  they  had  been  exerted  to  purchase  admiration, 
not  to  win  confidence  ;  yet,  with  a  common  perverseness,  she  was 
angry  at  their  ill  success,  not  sorry  for  their  wrong  direction.  She 
did  not  consider,  that  real  benevolence,  or  an  excellent  counter- 
feit, is  the  only  road  to  an  unadulterated  heart.  It  appeared  to 
htr  a  proof  of  an  ungrateful  temper  in  her  niece,  tliat  she  should 
yield  in  so  short  a  time  to  strangers  to  whom  she  owed  nothing, 
what  she  refused  to  a  relation  to  whom  she  owed  so  much.  She 
ii^d.  not  been  able  to  forbear  from  venting  her  spleen  in  little  spite- 
fi!&  remarks,  and  sly  stings,  sometimes  so  adroitly  given,  that 
they  were  unobserved,  except  by  the  person  who  was  by  degrees 
becoming  accustomed  to  expect  them.  The  presence  of  the  De 
Courcy  family,  however,  restrained  the  expression  of  Lady  Pel- 
ham's  ill  humour  ;  and,  as  she  detested  restraint,  (a  detestation 
which  she  always  ascribed  to  a  noble  ingenuousness  of  mind,)  she 
nestled  with  peculiar  complacency,  into  the  corner  of  the  car- 
riage which  was  to  convey  her  to  what  she  called  freedom,  name- 
ly, the  liberty  to  infringe,  *witii  impunity,  the  rights  of  others. 
Laura  felt  that  her  reluctance  to  quit  Norwood  was  a  bad  compli- 
ment to  her  aunt,  and  she  called  a  smile  to  her  face  as  she  kissed 
her  hand  to  her  kind  friends  ;  yet  the  contrast  between  their  af- 
fectionate looks,  and  the  *'  lurking  devil"  in  Lady  Pelham'^  eye, 
did  not  lessen  her  re,gi-et  at  the  exchange  she  was  making. 

Lady  Pelham  saw  the  tone  of  Laura's  mind,  and  she  immediate- 
ly struck  up  a  discord.  *'  Heaven  be  praised,'  she  cried,  *'  we 
have  at  last  escaped  out  of  that  stupid  place  !  I  tliink  it  must  be 
something  extraordinary  that  tempts  me  to  spend  four  days  tfeei'e 
again."  Laura  remained  silent ;  for  she  disliked  direct  contra- 
diction, and  never  spoke  what  she  did  not  think.  Lady  Pelham 
continued  her  harangue,  declaring,  "  that  your  g'jod  sort  of  peo- 
ple were  always  intolerably  tiresome  ;  chat  clock-work  regularity 
was  the  didlest  thing  in  nature  ;  that  Norwood  was  another  cave 
of  Trophonius ;  Mrs.  De  Courcy  inspired  with  tlie  soul  of  a. 
starched  old  maid  ;  Harriet  animated  by  the  joint  spirit  of  a  mag- 
pie and  a  monkey  ;  and  Montague  by  that  of  a  methodist  parson." 
l';'iUv,  she  again  congratulated  herself  on  her  escape  frojn  sucl^ 


46^ 

Bocicty,  and  wondered  how  any  body  co\ild  submit  to  it  wi^nout 
han.^riiier  hi'n.-.elf".  Luiira  was  jiccustointd  to  support  Lad---  Pel- 
h^ra's  s-itacks  upon  liersrlf  With  i-e  k-ct  fCjUAnir.iiiy  ;  bu)  lur  tem- 
per was  not  ppijof  ag-.iiust  this  unj-ist,  tins  U'.iexnectcd  philippic 
against  her  friends  ;  and  slic  re'ldei^ed  with  anger  and  dindain, 
thoug-h  she  had  still  so  much  seif-conimand  as  to  reply  only,  "  Vo^jr 
ladyship  is  fortunate  in  being"  able  to  lose,  vvithoiit  isegreat,  what 
oMersnnd  it  so  difficult  to  replace." 

Lidy  Pelham  fully  understood  the  emphasis  whicl|  was  laid  on' 
the  word  others^  but  the  mortification  to  her  vanity  was  compen- 
sated by  the  triumph  of  discovering-  the  vulnerable  side  of  her 
niece's  temper.  This  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  been  con- 
scious of  power  over  it,  and  severely  did  Laura  pay  for  the  mo- 
mentary neg-lig-ence  which  had  betrayed  the  secret  Some  per- 
sons never  feel  pleasure  without  endeuvotxring  to  communicate  it. 
Lady  Pelham  acted  upon  the  converge  of  this  amiable  principle  ; 
and,  as  an  ill-rcg-ulated  mind  furnished  constant  sources  of  pain,  a 
new  channel  of  participation  was  a  precious  discovery.  As  often,, 
tlierefore,  as  spleen,  jealousy,  or  malice  pi'ompted  her  to  annoy- 
ance, she  had  recourse  henceforth  to  this  new-found  weapon  ;  and 
she  varied  her  warfare  through  all  the  changes  of  hints,  insinua- 
tions, and  that  mode  of  attack  the  most  provoking  of  all,  which, 
aiming  at  no  particular  point,  becomes  the  more  difficult  to  parry. 
During  several  months,  she  made  it  the  occasional  instrument  of 
her  vengeance  for  the  jealousy  which  she  entertained  of  Laura's 
increasing  intimacy  with  the  De  Courcys  ;  an  intimacy  which  she 
chose  to  embitter,  though  she  could  not  break  it  of,  without  de- 
priving herself  of  acquaintances  who  were  visiied  by  the  first  peo- 
ple in  the  county. 

Her  industry  in  teazing  was  not  confined  to  Laura.  She  inflict- 
ed a  double  stroke,  by  the  petulence  or  coldness  with  which  she 
sometimes  treated  the  De  Courcys.  iJut  though  Laura  was  keenly 
sensible  to  tliese  petty  wrongs  done  her  friends,  the  injured  passed 
them  over  without  much  notice.  Harriet  repaid  them  with  laugh- 
ter or  sarcasm  ;  while  Montague  seemed  to  consider  them  as  whol- 
ly unworthy  of  attention.  He  continued  his  visits  to  AValbourne, 
and  accident  at  last  fui-nished  an  excuse  for  their  frequency. 

In  the  course  of  Lady  Pelham's  improvements,  a  difficulty  chan- 
ced to  occiir,  which  a  slight  knowledge  of  the  elements  of  mathe- 
matics wotdd  have  enabled  her  to  solve.  To  supply  the  want  of 
this  knowledge,  she  had  recourse  to  Mr.  Ue  Courcy,  who  removed 
her  perplexity  with  tl;e  ease  of  one  conversant  with  his  subject, 
and  the  accuracy  of  one  who  speaks  to  a  reasoning  crcatuic.  I^a- 
dy  Pelham  was  charmed  !  She  was  convinced  that  **  of  all  studies 
that  of  mathematics  must  be  the  most  delightful.  She  imagined 
it  might  not  be  quite  impracticable  even  for  a  lady,  supposing  she 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  wi'.h  a  friend  who  could  assist  her." 
De  Courcy,  lau.^^hing,  offered  hi.s  services,  not,  it  must  he  owned, 
vith  any  ideft.  that  they  would  be  accepted.  Her  ladyship,  how- 
ever, eagerly  embraced  the  ofifer  ;  for  s]i©  was  litUti  accustomoii 


f 


47 

to  forecast  the  diflicnhies  of  any  scheme  that  entered  her  brain. 
In  the  triumphant  expectation  that  all;difficalty  would  yield  to  her 
acuteness,  and  her  brighter  abilities  g-ain  in  a  comparison  with  the 
pluin  good  sense  of  h'^r  niece,  she  olilig'ed  Laura  to  join  her  in  this 
new  pursuit.  Upon  the  study  of  this  science,  so  little  in  favour 
\  iUi  a  sex  who  reserve  cultivation  for  faculties  where  it  is  least 
wanting-,  Laura  entered  with  a^  pleasure  that  surprised  herself,  and 
she  persevered  in  it  with  an  industry  that  astonished  her  reacher. 
Lady  Felham  was.  for  a  little  while,  the  companion  of  her  labours  ; 
but,  at  the  first  difficulty,  she  took  offence  at  the  unaccommodat- 
ing' thing-,  which  shewed  no  more  indulgence  to  female  than  to 
royal  indolence. — Forthwith  she  was  fired  with  strong  aversion  to 
pliilosopheis  in  bibs  and  a  horror  at  ^.^lepedants,  a  term  of  re- 
proach which  a  dexterous  side-glance  could  appropriate  to  her 
niece,  though  the  author  of  those  memoirs  challenges  any  mortal 
to  say  that  ever  Latirn  Montreville  was  heard  to  m.ention  ellipse  or 
parabola,  or  to  insinuate  her  acquaiv,tance  with  the  properties  of 
circle  or  polygon.  Nothing  moved  by  Lady  Felham's  sneers,  Laura 
continued  her  studies,  impelled  partly  by  the  duty  of  improving 
the  most  valuable  f^iculty  of  an  immortal  mind,  partly  by  the  plea- 
sore  which  she  derived  from  the  study  itself.  It  is  true,  that  her 
ladyship's  indiscreet  use  of  the  secret,  made  Laura's  labours  the 
cause  of  much  merriment  to  titterers  of  both  sexes  ;  but  we  have 
never  discovered  that  Do  Courcy  e&teemed  her  the  less  for  her 
persevering  industry,  or  loved  her  the  less  for  this  new  subject  of 
itiutual  interest.  He  watched  with  deligl.t  the  restoration  of  her 
mind  to  its  full  vigoiir  ;  and  as  he  had  never  known  her  in  her 
blaze  of  youthful  gaiety,  he  was  scarcely  sen.sible  of  the  shade 
which  blended  the  radiance  of  her  mid-day  of  life  with  the  sober 
tints  of  evening. 

T  he  impression  of  her  early  disappointment  was  indeed  indeli- 
ble, hut  it  was  no  longer  overwhelming.  She  had  gi\en  the  reins 
to  her  imagination  it  had  fatj^Hy  niisled  her ;  but  its  power  had 
sustained  an  inecovcrable  shock,  jmd  the  sway  was  transferred  to 
reason.  Slie  had  dreamed  of  an  eartldy  heaven,  and  seen  that  it 
wos  but  a  dream.  All  her  earthlv  jovs  had  vanished — yet  misery 
luul  beeyi  almost  as  transient  as  delight,  and  she  learned  the  prac- 
ticed use  of  a  truth  which  aW  acknowledge  in  theory.  In  the  course 
of  four  months  residence  at  Walbourne,  she  recovered  a  placid 
( luerfuhicss,  which  afterwards  continued  to  be  the  habitual  tenor 
ofliermip.d.  If  she  looked  forward  to  the'future  events  of  her 
life,  it  was  to  resolve  that  they  should  be  subservient  to  the  great 
end  of  her  bcii^g  If  she  glanced  backward,  it  was  less  to  la- 
ment her  disappointment,  than  to  blame  the  error  which  had  led 
to  it  ;  and  she  never  allowe<l  her  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  her  un- 
worthy lover,  except  when  pfeiyingthat  he  might  be  awakened  to 
a  sense  of  his  guilt. 

She  was  cJuefly  concerned  to  improve  and  to  enjoy  the  present  ; 
ai.d  in  this  she  was  successfid  in  spite  of  tiie  peevish  humours  of 
Lu.dy  Peiham,  mixed  occasionally  with  ebullitions  of  rage.     Ihose 


48 

who  are  furious  where  they  dare,  or  when  the  provocation  is  suffi- 
cient to  rouse  their  courage,  sometimes  chicle  v/ith  impotent  per- 
severance where  they  are  awed  from  the  full  expression  of  their 
fury  :  as  the  sea,  which  the  lightest  breeze  dashes  in  billows  over 
the  sandbank,  frets  in  puny  ripples  against  the  rock  that  frowns 
over  it.  If  Lady  Pelham's  temper  had  any  resemblance  to  this 
stormy  element,  it  was  not  wholly  void  of  likeness  to  another — for 
it  "  changed  as  it  listed,"  without  any  discoverable  reason.  It 
would  have  lost  half  its  power  to  provoke,  and  Laura  half  the  me- 
rit of  her  patient  endurance,  if  it  had  been  permanently  diabolical. 
The  current,  not  only  serene  but  sparkling,  would  reflect  with 
added  beauty  every  surrounding  object,  then  would  suddenly 
burst  into  foam,  or  settle  into  a  stagnant  marsh.  Laura  threw  oil 
upon  the  torrent,  and  suflferred  the  marsh  to  clear  itself.  She  en- 
joyed Lady  Pelliam's  wit  and  vivacity  in  her  hours  of  good  humour, 
and  patiently  submitted  to  her  seasons  of  low  spirits,  as  she  com- 
plaisantly  called  them. 

Laura  at  last,  undesignedly,  opened  a  new  direction  to  her  aunt's 
spleen  From  her  first  introduction  to  Lady  Pelham,  she  had  la- 
boured assiduously  to  promote  a  reconciliation  between  her  aunt 
and  her  daughter,  !VIrs.  Herbert.  Her  zeal  appeared  surprising 
to  Lady  Pelnam,  who  could  not  estimate  the  force  of  her  motive 
for  thus  labouring,  to  tlie  manifest  detriment  of  her  own  interest, 
ehe  being  (after  Mrs.  Herbert)  the  natural  heiress  of  her  aunt's 
fortune.  She  had  seized  the  moment  of  complacency  ;  watched 
the  relentings  of  nature  ;  by  turns  tried  to  soothe  and  to  convince; 
and,  in  the  proper  spirit  of  a  peace  maker,  adhered  to  her  purpose 
with  meek  perseverance.  According  to  the  humour  of  the  hour. 
Lady  Peiham  w?s  alternately  flattered  by  solicitations  that  con- 
fessed her  power,  or  rendered  peevish  by  entreaties  which  she  was 
determined  to  reject,  or  fired  to  rage  by  the  recollection  of  her 
wrongs  If  the  more  placid  frame  prevailed,  she  could  ring  eter- 
nal changes  on  tlie  same  oft-refuted  arguments,  or  adroitly  shift 
the  subject  by  some  lively  sally  of  wit,  or  some  neat  compliment 
to  her  niece.  In  her  more  stormy  tempers,  she  would  profess  a 
total  inabiUty  to  pardon  ;  nay,  a  determination  never  to  attempt  it ; 
and  took  credit  for  scorning  to  pretend  a  forgiveness  which  she 
could  not  practise. 

Still  Laura  was  not  discouraged  :  for  she  had  often  obsened 
that  what  Lady  Peiham  declarea  on  one  day  to  be  wholly  impossi- 
ble, on  the  next  became,  without  any  assignable  reason,  the  easiest 
thing  in  nature  ;  and  that  what  to-day  no  human  force  should 
Wi-cst  from  her,  was  yielded  to-morrow  to  no  force  at  all.  She 
therefoi'e  persisted  in  her  work,  of  conciliation  ;  and  her  efforts  at 
last  prevailed  so  far,  that,  though  Lady  Pelham  still  protested  im- 
placability, she  acknowledged,  that,  as  there  was  no  necessity  for 
her  family  feuds  being  known  to  the  world,  she  was  willing  to  ap- 
pear upon  decent  terms  with  the  Herberts ;  and,  for  that  purpose, 
would  receive  them  for  a  few  weeks  at  Walbourne. 


49 

Of  this  opening-,  unpromising-  as  it  was,  Laura  instantly  avaikd 
herself;  and  wrote  to  convey  the  frozen  insitation  to  her  cousin, 
in  the  kindest  language  which  she  was  permitted  to  use.  It  was 
instantly  accepted ;  and  Mrs.  Herbert  and  her  husband  became 
the  inmates  of  Walbourne. 

Mrs.  Herbert  had  no  resemblance  to  her  mother.     Her  counte- 
nance was  grave  and  thoughtful ;  her  manners  uniformly  cold  and 
repulsi\e.     Laura  traced  in  her  unbending  reserve,  the  apathy  of 
oue  whose  genial  feelings  had  been  blunted  by  early  imkindness. 
Frank,  high  spirited,  and  imprudent,  Herbert  was  his  wife's  oppo- 
site i  and  Laura  had  not  been  half  an  hour  in  his  company,  before 
she  began  to  tremble  for  the  efiect  of  these  qualities  on  the  irasci- 
ble temper  of  her  aunt.     But  her  alarm. seemed  causeless  ;  for  the 
easy  resoluteness  with  which  he  maintained  his  opinions,  appeared 
to  extort  from  Lady  Pelham  a  sort  of  respect ;  and,  though  slie 
privately  complained  to  Laura  of  what  she  called  his  assurarce,  she 
exempted  him,  while  present,  from  her  attacks,  seeming  afraid  to 
exert  upon  him  her  skill  in  provoking.     Laura  began  to  perceive, 
that  a  termagant  is  not  so  untameable  an  animal  as  she  hnd  once 
imagined,  since  one  g-limpse  of  the  master-spirit  is  of  sovereign 
power  to  lay  the  lesser  imps  of  spleen.     But  though  Lady  Pelham 
seemed  afraid  to  measure  her  strength  with  spirits  of  kindred  iras- 
cibility, she  was  under  no  restraint  with  Mrs.  Herbert,  upon  whom 
she  vented  a  degree  of  querulousness  that  appeared  less  like  the 
ebullitions  of  ill-temper,  than  the  overflowings  of  settled  malice. 
Every  motion,  every  look,  furnished  matter  of  censure  or  of  sar- 
casnu     The  placing-  of  a  book,  tlie  pronunciation  of  a  word,  the 
snuffing  of  a  candle,  called  forth  reprehension  ;  and  Laura  knew 
not  whether  to  be  most  astonished  at  the  ingenious  malice  which 
contrived  to  convert  "  triHes,  light  as  air,"  into  certain  proofs  of 
degeneracy,  or  at  the  apathy  on  which  the  venomed  sliaft  fell 
harmless.    Mrs.  Herbert  received  all  her  mother's  repiimands  in 
silence,  without  moving  a  mustcle,  without  announcing,  by  the 
slightest  change  of  colotir,  that  the  sarcasm  had  reached  further 
tlian  her  ear.     If,  as  not  unfrequently  happened,  the  reproof  ex- 
tended into  a  harangue,  Mrs.  Herbert  unmoved,  withdrew  no  part 
of  her  attention  from  her  netting-,  but  politely  suppressed  a  yawn. 
These  discorteous  scenes  were  exhibited  only  in  Mr.  Herbert's 
absence;  his  presence  instantly  suspended  Lady  Pelham's  war- 
fare ;  and  Laura  inferred  that  his  wife  never  made  him  acquainted 
Iw.th  her  mother's  behaviour.     That  behavior  formedan  exception 
to  the  general  unstc^adiness  of  Lady  Pelham;  for  to  Mrs.  Herbert 
she  was  const;  nily  cruel  and  insulting-.     Nothing  could  be  more 
tormenting  to  the  benevoUnt  mind  of  Laura,  than  to  witness  this 
s)  stem  of  aggression ;  and  she  repented  in  having-  been  instru- 
mental in  renewing^  an  intercoui'se  that  could  lead  to  no  pleasing- 
issue. 

But  the  Issue  was  nearer  than  she  expected.  One  day  in  Her- 
bert's absence,  Lady  Pciham  began  to  discuss  with  his  wife,  oi- 
rather  to  lier,  the  never-failing-  subject  of  her  iluplicity  and  diiO« 


50 

bedience.    SJie  was  not  interrupted  by  any  expression  of  regret  or 
repentance  from  the  culprit,  who  maintained  a  stoical  silence,  la- 
bouring the  while  to  convey  mathematical  precision  to  the  crimp- 
ing-  of  a  baby's  cap,  an  employment  upon  which  Lady  Pelham 
seemed  to  look  with  peculiar  abhorrence.     From  the  turpitude  of 
Jier  daug-liter's  conduct,  she  proceeded  to  its  consequences.     She 
knew  no  right,  she  said,  that  people  had  to  encumber  their  friends 
with  hosts  of  beggarly  brats.     She  vowed  that  none  such  should 
ever  receive  her  countenance  or  protection.     Her  rage  kindled  as 
she  spoke.     She  inveighed  against  Mrs.  Herbert's  insensibility; 
and  at  last  talked  herself  into  such  a  pitch  of  fury,  as  even  to  abuse 
her  for  submitting  to  the  company  of  one  who  could  nut  conceal 
detestation  of  her  ; — a  want  of  spirit  which  she  directly  attributed 
to  the  most  interested  views  ; — views  which,  however,   she  abso- 
lutely swore  that  she  would  defeat.     In  the  energy  of  her  declama- 
tion, she  did  not  perceive  that  Herbert  had  entered  the  room,  and 
stood  listening  to  her  concluding  sentences,  with  a  face  of  angry 
astonishment.     Advancing  towards  his  wife,  he  indignantly  inquir- 
ed the  meaning  of  the  tumult.  •*  N  thing,"  answered  she,  calmly 
surveying  her  handy  work  ;  '*  only  my  mother;  is  a  little  angry,  but 
1  have  not  spoken  a  word  "     He  then  turned  for  explanation  to 
Lady  Pelham,  whom  the  flashing  of  his  eye  i  educed  to  instanta- 
neous quiet ;  and,  not  finding,  in  her  stammering  absti-act  of  the 
conversation,  any  apology  for  the  insult  he  had  heard,  he  took  his 
wife  by  the  arm,  and  instantly  left  the  house,  giving  orders  that  his 
baggage  should  follow  him  to  a  little  inn  in  the  neighbouring  vil- 
lage.    Thus  did  the  insolence  of  one  person,  and  the  hasty  spirit  of 
another,  undo  what  Laura  had  for  months  been  labouring  to  eftisct. 
The  Herberts  never  made  any  attempt  at  reconciliation,  and  Lady 
Pelham  would  never  afterwards  hear  them  mentioned,  without 
breaking  out  into  torrents  of  abuse,  and  even  imprecation,  which 
made  Laura's  blood  run  cold.     Yet,  with  her  usual  ini;onsistency. 
Lady  Pelham  was  vexed  at  the  suspension  of  her  intercourse  with 
the  Herberts  ;  because  she  thus  lost  e\  en  the  sliaduw  of  power 
over  her  daughter.     Not  that  she  acknowledged  this  cause  of  re- 
gret.    No !  she  eloquently  bewniled  her  hard  fate,  in  being  ex- 
posed to  the  censure  of  the  world  as  at  variance  with  her  nearest 
relatives.     She  complained  that,  witli  a  heart  "  warm  as  mehing 
charity,"  she  had  no  one  to  love  or  to  cheri3h.     Yet  l^tira  could 
not  always  forbear  smiling  at  the  perverse  direction  of  her  aunt's 
regrets. '  Lady  Pelham  was  angry,  not  that  her  own  unkindness 
had  driven  her  children  from  her,  but  that  Lau;  a's  officious  bcJie- 
volence  had  brought  them  to  her  house;  a  measure  from  which, 
she  was  pleased  to  say,  th.it  no  person  of  common  sense  could  have 
expected  a  different  issue. 


51 


CHAPTER  XXIU. 

If  Lady  Pelham  repined  at  the  desertion  of  the  Herberts,  it  was 
not  because  their  departure  consigned  her  to  solitude.  Never  had 
Wal  bourne  attracted  so  many  visitors.  Lady  Felham*s  beautiful 
niece  drew  thither  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood.  The 
ladies  followed  them  of  course.  The  beauty  and  modesty  of  Laura 
charmed  the  men,  while  the  women  were  half-inclined  to  think  it 
an  unfounded  slander  that  such  a  good-natured,  oblir;ing,  neat- 
handed  creature  studied  mathematics,  and  read  Tacitus  ii\  tha 
original. 

Among  the  society  to  which  she  was  introduced  by  Lady  Pel- 
ham,  and  still  more  among  that  in  which  she  mingled  at  Norwood, 
Laura  met  with  persons  of  distinguished  ability,  rank,  and  polite- 
ness. In  such  company  she  rapidly  acquired  that  case  of  address 
which  alone  was  wanting  to  make  her  manners  as  fascinating  a:; 
they  were  correct.  She  grew  accustomed  to  find  herself  the  ob- 
ject of  attention,  and  though  no  habit  could  reconcile  her  to  the 
gaze  of  numbers,  she  gradually  learnt  to  carry  into  these  lesser 
occasions,  the  self-command  which  distinguished  her  in  more  im- 
portant concerns  In  real  modesty  and  humility  she  improved 
every  day  ;  for  i^  was  the  study  of  her  life  to  improve  in  them.; — 
She  retained  all  the  timidity  which  is  the  fruit  of  genuine  sensibi- 
lity and  quick  perception  of  impropriety,  while  she  lost  that  bash- 
fulness  which  owes  its  growth  to  solitude  and  inexperience.  Her 
personal  charms,  too,  increased  as  they  approached  maturity.  The 
symmetry  of  her  form  and  features  was  indeed  scarcely  susceptible 
of  improvement;  but  added  gracefulness  gave  new  attractions  to 
her  figure  ;  while  the  soul  lent  its  improving  strength  and  bright- 
ness to  animate  her  face  with  charms  which  mere  symmetry  know.s 
not. 

With  such  qualifications  Laura  could  not  fail  to  excit*  admira- 
tion ;  yet  never  perhaps  did  beauty  so  seldom  listen  to  its  own 
prai.ses.  It  was  labour  lost  to  compliment  one  who  never  rewarded 
the  flatterer  with  one  smile  of  graiified  vrinity,  or  repaid  him  with 
one  complaisant  departure  from  the  simple  truth.  To  the  every- 
day nothings  of  the  common  herd  she  listened  with  a  weariness 
which  politeness  could  sometimes  scarcely  repress-  "  Oh  would," 
though,  she,  '*  that  civil  things,  as  ?hcy  are  called,  required  no  an- 
swer,— or  that  one  obliging  gentlemen  would  undertake  the  labour 
of  replying  to  the  rest !"  If  addressed  in  the  language  of  common- 
place compliment  by  one  whom  she  respected,  her  look  of  mortifi- 
cation intelligibly  said,  "  Has  then  your  penetration  searched  me 
deeper  than  1  know  myself,  and  detected  in  me  the  more  tiuin 
«  iiiidish  weakness  of  valuing  myself  on  such  distinctions  as  those 
}  ou  are  praising  •" 

Laura  had  no  personal  vanity ;  and  therefore  it  required  no  effort 
;o  withstrmd  such  praise.  She  had  more  merit  in  the  more  strcn- 
i)us  but  less  successful  exertions  which  she  mad^  to  resist  the 


52 

silent  flattery  «f  the  re&pectful  .glance  that  awaited  her  decision, 
hc-jioug-ht  her  approbation,  or  reflected  her  sentiments.  Sometimes 
.she-thought  Montague  De  Courcy  an  adept  in  this  sort  of  flattery. 
Ikit  more  frequently,  when  administered  by  him,  she  forgot  to  call 
it  by  that  name ;  and  she  was  the  less  upon  her  guard  af<-ainst  his 
hoiivit^e,  because  it  was  never  offered  in  any  more  palpable  form. 

rortified  by  the  advice'of  his  mother,  wjio  had  convinced  him 
thixt  a  premature  disclosure  of  his  sentiments  would  be  fatal  to  his 
hope  s,  and  aware,  that  were  he  even  successful  with  Laura,  some 
f'i!  iher  provision  must  be  made  for  his  sister,  ere  he  cwild  with 
justice  increase  the  expense  of  his  establishment,  he  acted  witli 
such  caution  as  bafi^ed  the  penetration  of  common  observers.  The 
neighbouring  tea-tables  were  r.ather  inclined  to  consign  his  affec- 
tions to  a  lively  young  heiress,  who.se  estate  had  formerly  been  dis- 
meinbered  from  that  of  Norwood ;  for  he  had  flirted  with  her  at  a 
leview,  and  danced  with  her  at  the  county  ball.  Moreover,  the 
charitable  xleciared,  "  that  if  he  was  backward,  it  was  not  for  want 
of  encouragement ;  that  Miss  allowed  herself  strange  liberties; 
though,  to  be  sure,  heiresses  might  do  any  thing." 

In  spite  of  the  lynx  eye  in  detecting  embryo  passion,  which  is 
ascribed  to  the  sex,  Montague's  secret  was  safe  even  from  Laura 
herself;  or  if  a  momentary  suspicion  had  glanced  across  her  mind, 
she  chid  it  away  with  self-accusations  of  vanity,  and  recollections 
of  the  ten  thousand  opportunities  for  a  declaration  which  he  had 
suflcred  to  pass  unimproved.  Besides,  Mrs.  Ue  Courcy  had  once 
hinted  that  Montague's  little  fits  of  melancholy  and  absence  were 
occasioned  by  his  partiality  for  a  lady  whose  afiections  were  pre- 
engagedV  and  Laura  wds  sure  that  the  hint  could  not  refer  to  her- 
self. Her  humiliating  secret,  she  was  thankful,  was  safely  lodged 
in  her  own  breast,  and  could  never  be  divulged  to  cover  her  with 
mortification. 

That  which  any  eflTort  of  imagination  can  ascribe  to  the  in- 
fluence of  Cupid,  no  woman  ever  attributed  to  any  other  power; 
and  if,  at  any  time,  a  shade  crossed  the  open  countenance  of  Mon- 
tague,  Laura  called  to  mind  his  motlier's  hint,  and  added  to  her 
truly  sisterly  aflTection  a  pity  which  lent  indescribable  softness  to 
her  manners  towards  him.  Indeed  she  always  treated  him  with 
undisguised  regard,  and  Montague  tried  to  be  satisfied.  Yet  he 
could  not  help  longing  to  read,  in  some  inadvertent  glance,  a  proof 
th.at  all  the  heart  was  not  freely  shewn.  In  vain  ! — the  heart  was 
open  as  the  day ;  and  all  was  there  that  could  delight  the  fi  iend, 
but  nothing  that  could  satisfy  the  lover. 

Me  had,  however,  none  of  the  temptations  of  jealousy  to  betray 
Ills  secret,  for  his  rivals  were  neither  numerous  nor  formidable.— 
Laura  was  known  to  have  no  fortune  ;  she  had  little  talent  for  chit 
chat,  and  still  less  for  flattery  :  thus  amid  universal  admiration' 
and  general  good-will,  she  had  only  two  professed  adorers — one, 
who  haunted  her  while  present,  toasted  her  when  absent,  and  ra- 
\cdofher  charms,  both  in  prose  and  rhyme,  without  ever  sufl^ering 
his  pretensions  to  become  so  serious  as  to  afford  lier  a  pretext  for 


5:^ 

seriously  repulsing  them — the  other,  a  prudent  elderly  widov.  er, 
\rho,  being"  possessed  of  a  ijood  fortune,  and  a  full-grown  daughter, 
thouglit  himself  entitled  to  consult  his  taste  without  regard  to  pe- 
cuniary views,  and  conceived  that  Laura  might  be  useful  to  the 
young  lady  in  the  double  capacities  of  companion  and  example. — 
Laura's  answer  to  his  proposals  was  a  firm  but  gentle  refusal,  while 
she  assured  him,  that  she  would  not  abuse  his  confidence  nor  be- 
tray the  trust  he  had  reposed  in  her.  Elderly  gentlemen  are  sel- 
dom inclined  to  publish  a  repulse.  The  widower  never  mcntion^dl 
his  even  to  Lady  Pelliam  ;  and  Laura,  on  this  occasion,  ov/ed  to 
her  principle  an  escape  from  many  a  tedious  remonstrance,  and 
many  a  covert  attack. 

The  summer  had  almost  glided  away,  and  Montague  continued 
to  fluctuate  between  hope  and  fear,  his  mother  to  cherish  his  hopes 
and  allay  his  apprehensions,  Laura  to  be  tranquil,  Harriet  to  be 
gay,  and  Lady  Pelhain  to  exhibit,  by  turns,  every  various  degree  of 
every  various  humour,  when  one  morning  Miss  De  Courcy,  who 
had  lately  returned  from  a  visit  to  a  companion,  accompanied  her 
brother  on  horseback  to  Walhourne.  Lady  Pelham  was,  as  usual, 
engaged  in  her  garden,  but  the  visitors  had  no  sooner  entered  the 
room  where  Laura  sat,  than  she  oljserved  that  they  seemed  to  have 
exchanged  characters.  Harriet  looked  almost  thoughtful,  while 
the  countenance  of  De  Courcy  sparkled  with  unusual  animation. — 
He  was  gay  even  tft  restlessness.  He  o fibred  to  give  Laura  her 
lesson  in  mathematics  ;  and  before  it  was  half  over,  having  com- 
pletely bewildered  both  himself  and  his  pupil,  he  tossed  ^^iray  the 
book,  declaring  that  he  never  in.  his  life  was  so  little  fit  for  think- 
ing. Pleasure  spoke  in  every  tone  of  his  voice,  or  sported  in  his 
eye  when  lie  was  silent. 

After  a  short  visit,  enlivened  by  a  hilarity  wliich  Laura  found 
more  infectious  than  the  gravity  of  Harriet,  he  proposed  leaving 
his  sister  with  her  friend,  while  he  rode  on  to  call  for  a  gentleman 
in  the  neig'hbotirhood.  **  Begone,  then,'*  cried  Laura,  gaily,  "for 
I  long  to  question  Harriet  what  has  given  you  such  enviable  spirit.'? 
this  morning."  "  Ah,  she  must  not  betray  me,"  said  De  Courcy, 
half  smiling,  half  sighing,  *•  or  I  forfeit  my  only  chance  of  being 
remembered  whefil  am  out  of  sight.  If  she  can  be  silent,  curiosity 
may  perhaps  befriend  me."  "  How  very  humble  !"  cried  Laura, — 
**  as  if  curiosity  were  the  only  name  you  could  lind  for  the  interest 
I  take  in  v/hat  makes  you  gay,  or  Harriet  grave  !"  "  Dear  Laura,'* 
said  De  Courcy,  urdently,  "  give  the  cause  what  name  you  will,  if 
you  will  but  think  of  me."  Then  snatching  her  lily  hands,  he  press- 
ed them  to  his  lips,  and  the  next  moment  was  gone. 

Confused,  surprised,  a  little  displeased,  Laura  stood  silently  re- 
volving his  behaviour.  He  had  never  before  made  the  slightest 
approach  to  personal  familiarity  Had  her  frankness  invited  the 
freedom  ?  *  Deai-  Laura  !'  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  called 
her  by  any  name  less  respectful  than  Miss  Montreville.  *'  Well, 
and  what  then  ? — it  were  mere  prudery  to  be  displeased  at  such  a 
trifle.  What,"  thought  she,  " can  have  delighted  him  so  much/ 
E  2 


54 

Perhaps  the  lady  is  kind  at  last.  He  need  not,  hotptv^r,  have  veri  L^ 
ed  his  transports  upon  nte."  And  Laura  was  a  little  more  angry 
than  before. 

Diirinj^  her  cogitation,  Laura  forgot  that  she  might  apply  to  her 
companion  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery;  perhaps  she  did  not  even 
recollect  that  Harriet  was  in  the  room,  till  happening  to  turn  her 
head,  she  met  a  glance  of  sly  inquisition,  which,  however,  was  in- 
stantly withdrawn.  Harriet  made  no  comment  on  the  subject  of 
lier  observation.  "  The  man  is  as  much  elated,"  cried  she,  **  as  if 
1  were  five-and- forty,  and  had  never  had  a  lover  before." 

"  You,  my  dear  Harriet,'*  exclaimed  Laura,  suddenly  recovering 

lier  good  humour,  ••  is  it  s^  conquest  of  yours  that  has  pleased  Mr 

De  Courcy  so  much  ?"    "  Even  so,"  returned  Harriet — "  Heigho  !" 

"  1  congratulate  you  :  and  yet  it  does  not  seem  to  delight  you 

t]  I  lite  so  much  as  it  does  your  brother." 

"  Really  Laura  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  docs  or  not ;  so  I  am 
ccaue  to  ask  you." 

"  Me  !  Indeed  you  have  too  much  confidence  in  my  penetraf:'m  ; 
hut  you  have,  fortunately,  abler,  and  more  natural  advisers.  Your 
raother." — 

*'  Oil,  my  mother  is  so  cautious,  so  afraid  of  influencing  me  ! 
when  to  be  influenced  is  the  very  thing  I  want.  I  do  hate  caiition. 
Then  1  can't  talk  it  over  with  her  as  1  could  with  you.  And  then, 
there's  Montague  looks  so  provokingly  pleased  ;  and  yet  he  pre- 
tends to  prim  up  liis  mouth,  and  say,  *  really  it  is  a  subject  on 
which  he  neither  can,  nor  ought  to  give  an  opinion.'  Pray,  advise 
me,  iny  dear." 

"  \\'hat !  before  I  know  who  the  gentleman  is ;  when  perhaps 
you  have  even  no  right  to  inforn>  me  !" 

"  Pshaw  !  nonsense. — It  is  Bolingbrokc.  But  I  believe  you  have 
never  met  with  him.'*  "  So  you  would  have  me  advise  yon  ttf  marry 
a  man  wliom  1  have  never  seen  ;  for  of  course  that  is  the  advice 
you  want.  Had  the  balance  lain  on  the  other  side,  no  advice  would 
iiave  been  thought  necessary."—-"  Poh,"  cried  Ht.iriet pouting,  "  I 
tlon't  want  to  be  advised  to  marry  liim."  "  Are  you  siire,"  return- 
ed Laura,  smiling,  *'  that  you  know  wliat  jou  want  ?"— "  Saucy 
girl !  I  would  have  you  telf  me  v.'hether  I  ;*m  ever  likely  to  marry 
him  !"  "  Do  you  think  I  am  Ir;  birth  entitled  to  the  S*«ond-sight, 
tliut  1  should  foresee  this  before  1  know  any  thing  of  the  gentle- 
man's merits,  or,  wliat  ii»of  more  consequence,  of  their  rank  in  your 
estimation  ?"  "  'Vhf  man  has  good  legs,"  said  Harriet,  plaiting 
the  fingers  of  her  glove  with  great  industry.  "  Legs  !  reallv,  Har- 
riet, I  was  in  hof>es  1  had  foi-  once  found  you  serious  " — "  So  I  am, 
mvdear;  J  never  was  so  serious  before,  and  hope  I  never  shall 
affr.in.  Yet  I  don't  know  what  to  think  ;  so  I  shall  just  tell  you 
honestly  how  the  matter  stands,  and  you  shall  think  for  me." 

"  I  will  not  promise  that  ;  but  T  own  1  liave  some  curiosity  to 
hear  your  ho?iesl  confession."—"  Oh  you  need  not  peep  so  archly 
askance  under  these  long  eyelashes  ;  I  can  stand  a  direct  look,  I 
assare  vou ;  for  at  this  moraenl  I  have  not  the  slightest  ji^elhv- 


55 

ence  in  the  w«rld  for  Bolingbroke  over  half  a  score  of  other&^ 
*'  Then  what  room  is  there  for  hesitation  ?'*  **  Why,  my  dear,  in 
the  first  place,  he  has  a  noble  fortune  ;  though  that  goes  fof 
nothing  with  you  ;  secondly,  he  is  really  a  good  creature,  and 
far  from  a  fool ;  then,  to  talk  in  your  style,  1  have  had  advanta- 
ges in  observing  his  temper  and  dispositions  such  as  I  shall  never 
have  with  any  other  man  ;  for  his  sister  and  I  have  been  con'pan- 
ions  from  childhood,  and  I  have  lived  under  his  roof  for  months  ; 
then,  which  will  weigh  with  you  more  than  all,  he  is  Montague's 
particular  favourite."  "  Great  recommendations  these,  Harriet; 
f.ufficient  at  least  to  bias  any  woman  who  intends  to  marry.  I 
should  like  to  know  Mr.  Bolingbroke."  "  Here  is  his  letter,  my 
dear,"  said  Harriet ;  "  it  came  inclosed  in  one  to  my  brother: 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  man's  turn  in  it" 
Laura  took  Uie  letter,  and  read  as  follows  : 

"  I  will  not  wrong  your  penetration  so  much  as  to  suppose  that 
this  letter  will  surprise  you,  or  that  you  will  fail  to  anticipate  the 
subject  on  the  first  glance  at  the  signature.  Nor  dol  write  to  tell 
you,  in  the  hackneyed  phrase,  that  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life 
depends  upon  you,  because,  next  to  your  affection,  nothing  is  so 
desirable  to  mc  as  your  esteem,  and  the  ho[)e,  that,  though,  you 
shoidd  reject  my  suit,  you  will  continue  to  respect  my  understand- 
ing. But  I  may  with  truth  declare,  that  I  prefer  you  to  all  wo- 
men ;  that  I  love  you,  not  only  in  spite  of  your  faiilts,  but»  per- 
haps, even  the  more  for  them  ;  and  that,  to  forfeit  the  hope  of 
your  affection,  would  dispel  many  a  long  cherished  vision  of  do- 
mestic peace,  and  even  some  lighter  dreams  of  rapture.  Dearest 
Harriet,  do  not,  in  return  for  this  confession,  write  me  a  cold  pro- 
fession of  esteem.  I  know  already  that  you  esteem  me,  for  you 
have  long  known  me  possessed  of  qualities  that  inevitably  engage 
esteem  ;  but  I  am  conscious  of  a  deficiency  in  the  gifts  tljat  excite 
passion,  and  1  dread  that  I  may  never  awaken  sentiments  like 
those  I  feel.  Yet  it  is  no  small  compliment  which  I  offer,  wlien 
1  suppose  you  superior  to  the  attractions  which  captivate  the  vul- 
'gar  of  your  sex  ;  and  you  may  value  it  the  more,  Ix  cause  it  is 
perhaps  the  only  one  I  shall  ever  pay  vou. 

"  To  say  alfc  this,  or  something  like  it,  has  long  been  in  my 
ti, oughts  ;  and,  durin<f  your  late  visit  to  my  sister,  occupied  ihem 
more  than  I  shall  own  ;  but  a  dread  of  I  know  not  v.  hat,  forced 
me  to  let  you  depart  without  oflering  to  your  acceptance  all  thjvt  I 
have  to  oft'er.  I  felt  a  certainty  that  I  was  not  vet  beloved,  and,  I 
believe  1  feared  that  you,  in  your  lively  way,  (so  I  must  call  it, 
siiice  no  epithet  that  implies  reproof  must  fiow  from  a  lover's  pen.) 
wonld  give  utterance  to  ihe  feeling  of  the  moment,  and  bid  m' 
think  of  you  no  more.  Is  it  presumption  to  say,  tliiit  Lhope  m.o;  . 
from  a  more  considerate  dt-cision  ?  Ask  your  own  heart,  tlven, 
dear  Miss  l)e  Courcy,  whether  time  and  the  assiduities  of  respect- 
fullove  can  beguile  vou  of  sucli  tendei-ness  us  is  due  to  a  confid- 
ing affectionate  husband.    Ask  yourself,  whether  you  caa  evCr 


SG 

retui'n  vny  warm  attachment,  to  such  a  degree  as  will  make  the 
duties  of  a  wife  easy  and  pleasant  to  you.  I  need  not  assure  you 
that  I  am  not  the  selfish  wretch  who  could  find  joy  in  receivinjy 
those  which  were  painfully  and  reluctantly  performed.  Be  can- 
did with  yourself  then  I  adjure  you.  Fear  not  that  I  shall  per- 
secute you  with  importunity  or  complaint.  If  it  must  be  so,  I  will 
see  you  no  more  for  some  months  ;  and,  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
shall  expect,  in  reward  of  my  self-conquest,  to  be  received  with 
cordiality  as  your  brother's  friend.  If  your  sentence  be  a.s^ainst 
me,  save  yourself  the  pain  of  telling-  me  so  ;  for  I  know  that  it 
must  be  painful  to  you.  Yet  judge  of  tlie  strength  of  that  regard 
which  is  thus  anxious  to  shield  you  from  imeasiness,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  it  anticipates  such  pain  from  your  hands.  If  you  can 
give  me  hope  (and,  observe,  when  I  say  liope,  I  do  not  mean  cer- 
tainty,) do  not  tax  your  delicacy  for  studied  phrases  of  accept- 
ance, but  write  me  even  a  common  card  of  invitation  to  Norwood, 
and  the  tenderest  billet  that  ever  was  penned  by  woman,  never 
gave  more  pleasure  than  it  will  bring  to  your  affectionate  and 
obedient  servant, 

Edward  Bolingbroke." 

Laura  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  composed  style  of  this 
epistle,  so  diffei'ent  from  the  o»iy  ones  of  its  kind  with  which  she 
was  conversant.  A  lover  confess  that  his  mistress  had  faults,  and 
thiithe  was  sensible  of  them  ! — insinuate  that  he  expected  not  only 
duty,  but  willing  and  graceful  duty  from  his  wife  ! — have  the  bold- 
ness to  expect,  that,  if  his  passion  were  unsuccessful,  he  should 
quickly  be  able  to  conquer  it  !  Laura  felt  no  inclination  to  envy 
her  friend  a  lover  so  :ully  in  the  exercise  of  his  judgment  and 
foresight  ;  but  she  was  pleased  with  the  plain  honest  rationality 
of  the  letter;  and,  with  the  materials  before  her,  immediately^  bu- 
sied her  imagination  in  its  favourite  work  of  sketching  and  adorn- 
ing character. 

She  was  recalled  from  her  meditation  by  another  petition  for 
^vice.  *•  You  see,"  said  Harriet,  "  he  pretends  not  to  expect 
certainty  ;  but  it  is  much  the  same  whether  one  runs  one's  neck 
into  the  noose,  or  gets  entangled  so  that  one  can't  decently  get 
off  If  I  could  creditably  contrive  to  keep  him  dangling  till  1  had 
made  up  my  mind,"  continued  she,  illustrating  tlie  metaphor 
with  her  watch  chain.  "  Do  assist  me,  my  dear  ;  I  am  sure  you 
have  managed  a  dozen  of  them  in  your  time." 

"  My  experience  is  not  so  extensive,"  replied  Laura,  "  and  I 
-can  really  assist  you  to  no  creditable  method  of  trifling." 

"  You  would  not  have  me  resolve  to  marry  a  man  whom  I  don't 
care  a.  farthing  for."  "  No,  indeed  !  but  I  think  Mr.  Bolingbroke 
would  have  a  right  to  complain,  if  you  gave  hopes  which  you  did 
not  fulfil. '  •'  You  would  have  me  dismiss  him  at  once  then  r"  "  ..y 
no  means  ;  but  I  would  have  you  think  for  yourself  on  a  subject  of 
which  no  other  person  can  judge  ;  and  remember,  my  dear,  that  as 
your  decision  has  neither  been  wrested  from  you  by  surprise,  nor 


57 

seduced  ft*om  you  by  persuaslcn,  you  have  no  excuse  fbr  formings 
a  weak  or  wavering  resolution.*' 

Determined  that  on  such  a  subject  she  would  deliver  no  opi- 
nion, Laura  was  relieved  from  some  embarrassment  by  the  return 
of  De  Courcy.  His'  reflections  during  his  ride  had  effectually 
<|[uelled  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits,  and  he  endeavoured  to  re- 
pair his  unguardedness  by  distant  politeness.  His  manner  in- 
creased the  feeling  of  restiaint  of  which  Laura  could  not  at  that 
time  divest  herself;  and  aft-^r  a  short  and  coTistraincd  sequel  to 
a  visit  which  had  begun  so  differently,  Montague  hurried  his 
sister  away. 

*'  I  shall  never  conquer  her  indifference,"  said  he  to  his  mother, 
after  relating  the  folly  of  the  morning.  '*  Had  you  seen  her  fro- 
zen look  of  displeasure,  you  would  liave  been  cfmvinced."  "  And 
how,  my  dear  Montague,  could  you  expect  Miss  Montreville  to 
receive  such  freedom  ?  like  a  little  village  coquette  gasping  at  the 
prospect  of  a  first  lover  ?  If  you  are  convinced  that  your  secret 
wojdd  still  be  heard  without  pleasure,  you  must  redouble  your 
caution  to  preserve  it.  But  suffer  me  to  warn  you  against  the  ex- 
treme of  reserve  into  which  I  liave  sometimes  observed  that  you 
are  apt  to  fall  It  can  only  confinn  suspicions  if  they  are  excit- 
ed ;  if  not,  it  will  disgust  by  an  appearance  of  caprice.*' 
•  Montague  promised  to  be  guarded  ;  and  withdrew  to  seek  in 
his  laboratory  a  refuge  from  despondence.  Those  who  pursue 
worldly  gains  and  vulgar  pleasures,  must  cheerlessly  toil  on, 
waiting  for  their  reward  till  their  end  is  attained  ;  but  the  pur- 
suits of  science  and  of  virtue  have  this  advantage  peculiar  to 
themselves,  that  there  is  reward  in  the  labour,  even  though  the 
success  be  only  partial  ;  and,  in  half  aa  hour,  all  Montague's 
cares  were  absorbed  in  the  muriatic  acid.  In  a  few  days  he  again 
saw  Laura,  and  her  sunny  smile  of  welcome  revived  hopes  which 
she  liltle  thought  of  fulfilling. 

When  a  woman  of  ordinary  delicacy  is  brought  to  hesitate  up- 
on the  proposal  of  a  lover,  it  is  easy,  provided  prudence  be  on  his 
side,  to  corjecture  how  the  balance  will  turn.  Mr.  Bolingbroke 
received  his  card  of  invitation  to  Norwpod  ;  and  his  suit  advanc- 
ed prosperously,  though  slowly  He  4as  a  plain  unpretending 
man,  seven  years  at  least  beyond  excuse  for  any  youthful  indis- 
cretion, habitually  silent,  though  sure  of  commanding  attention 
when  he  spoke.  The  perfect  fairness  and  integrity  of  his  mind 
had  secured  him  the  respect  of  all  his  acquaintance  in  a  degree 
which  he  appeared  to  have  precisely  estimated,  and  he  ULVfr 
Jeemed  to  expect  less  or  to  exact  more.  His  calm  unobtrusive 
■nanners  never  captivated  a  stranger,  nor  gave  offence  to  an  inti- 
Tiate.  He  was  kind  and  generous  to  a  sister  ;  who,  twenty  years 
jcfore,  had  succeeded  as  his  play-thing  to  tops  and  marbles  ;  and 
fliiformly  respectful  to  a  maiden  aunt  who  had,  about  the  same 
iate,  replaced  liis  mother  as  directress  of  the  family. 

His  fathcp  had  been  long  dead,  and  inconsequence  of  liis  steady 
•esistance  of  all  the  batteries  of  charms  opened  against  him,  or. 


58 


rather  against  his  7000Z.  a.year,  the  adies  had  hegun  to  shake 
tW  heads  and  pronounce  him  a  determined  bachelor.  But 
notvit  standing  then-  decision,  Mr.  Bolingbroke  was  resolved 
rmarryrfor  he  considered  marriage   as  one  of  the  duties  of  his 

*^Har"Aet  amused,  became  customary,  pleasing,  necessary,  to 
him  "Our  dissimilarity  will  assist  us  to  correct  each  other's 
faiUn^s."  Uiought  he.  and  his  choice  was  fixed  He  was  aware, 
tha  a  erave  elderly  man  might  find  some  d  fficulty  m  attaching  a 
voHme  5rl ;  and  though  he  could  not  condescend  to  flatter  even  1 
hi  n  stSss  he  was  assiduous  X<^  please.  He  bestowed  an  mfimty 
of  Uttle  attentions,  which  were  the  more  gratifying,  because  from 
ama  of  his  temper,  they  were  wholly  unexpected.  His  books, 
hiTlorses,his  calrriages,  waited  but  a  half-expressed  wish.  He 
p  anned  li  tie  excursions  and  parties  of  pleasure,  or  contnved  to 
add  some  agreeable  surprise  to  those  which  were  proposed  by 
ofheS  Faf  from  shew'ing  any  paltry  jealousy  he  treated  Miss 
De  Courcy»s  favourites  of  both  sexes  with  distinguished  polite- 
ness ;  and  perhaps  he  owed  his  success  with  a  heart  winch  had 
Withstood  more  Attractive  admirers,  partly  to  the  agreeable  asso- 
'  Nations  which  he  found  means  to  raise  partly  to  vamty,  pleased 
with  power  over  the  philosophic  Mr.  Bolmgbroke. 

Montague  watched  the  progress  of  his  ft-iend  with  keen  inte- 
rest but  he  conscientiously  avoided  influencing  Harriet  s  decision 
On  t:ircontrary,  lest  the  dread  of  future  dependence  should  ^^-eigU 
wi^th  her,  he  informed  her,  that,  should  she  prefer  a  s^V^le  l^fe,  oi 
Thould  other  circumstances  render  «^^^^  '\  «"f  ^"^l^"''^^"^,^^ 
her,    he  was  determined    to  doubK^|be  httle  fortuae    he  had 

*^WhiLhi'was  anxious  to  see  his  sister's  happiness  secured  by 
he7unonwithan  estimable  man,  he  felt  Uiat  her  marnage  with 
Mr.  Bolingbroke  would  immediately  remove  one  g^'^"^  P^^^^^^  ^^  J 
his  own  wishes;  for  the  little  dower  which  he  was  determ."^^^ 
cie  he  settled  in  life  to  save  for  Harriet,  would  form  an  addition 
Xgether  in^^^^^^  t^^e  splendid  settleme..t  which  was  no^v 

Tn  h!r  prnver.     There  was  nothing  Quixotic  in  tl.e  justice  ana  ge 

^e  osHvof  OeCouvcv,  and  l.e  bad  no  intemiou  ot  incumng  rcu 
aXXandpr  vationVor  the  sake  of  adding  atrifie  tothe  stoic^ 
Taffl  unce.  He  therefore  considered  his  s.sters  marriage  a 
^:^g  h[m  at  i^dl  liberty  to  pursue  his  ^f-^^-^l^^^VX^. 
to  Laura,  if  tfie  time  should  ever   ^'•'''^•^.  ^^'^^'^V- n^c  ert  s  inte 

them  without  hazarding  tlie  forfeiture  ot  even  li.s  picscrt  stintc; 

measure  of  favour. 


59 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

One  day  ^fiss  Be  Courcy  expressed  a  wish  to  shew  Laura  t^e 
collection  of  paintings  at  a  celebrated  seat  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Mr.  Bolingbroke  immediately  undertook  to  procure  the  permis- 
sion of  the  noble  o^vner,  who  was  his  relation  ;  and  the  party  was 
speedily  arranged.  Mrs.  Penelope's  sociable,  as  Mr.  Bolingbroke 
always  called  it,  was  to  convey  his  aunt,  h:S  sister,  Harriet,  and 
Mrs.  I3e  (Jourcy,  to  whom  the  genial  warmth  of  the  season  had 
partially  restored  the  use  of  her  limbs.  Mrs.  Penelope  piqued 
herself  upon  rising  with  the  lark,  and  enforcing  the  same  whole- 
some habit  upon  the  whole  liousehold  ;  the  Bolingbrokes  were, 
therefoi  e,  to  take  an  early  breakfast  at  Norwood,  and  then  pro- 
ceed on  their  excursion.  De  Courcy  and  Mr.  Bolingbroke  were 
to  ride.  Lady  Pelham  and  Laura  were  to  join  the  party  in  the 
grounds. 

The  weather  proved  delightful ;  and,  after  spending  some  hours 
in  examining  the  paintings,  in  which  Laura  derived  additional 
pleasure  from  the  skilful  comments  of  Ue  Co'.ircy,  the  party  pro- 
ceeded to  view  the  grounds,  when  she,  with  almost  equal  delight, 
contemplated  a  finished  specimen  of  modern  landscape  gardening. 
Pursuing,  as  usuai,  his  cautious  plan,  Montague  divided  his  atten- 
tions pretty  equally  between  tlie  elder  ladies  and  Miss  Bolingbroke, 
bestowing  the  least  part  upon  her  for  whom  he  would  have  wil- 
lingly resei  ved  all ;  while  Harriet,  in  good  humour  with  herself, 
and  with  all  around  her,  frankly  gave  her  arm  to  her  lover  ;  and 
sometimes  laughing,  sometimes  blushing,  suffered  herself  to  loiter, 
to  incline  her  head  in  listening  to  somewhat  said  in  a  half  whisper, 
and  to  answer  it  in  an  under  tone  ;  without  recollecting  that  she 
had  resolved,  till  she  had  quite  made  up  to  her  mind,  to  restrain 
her  habi  ual  propensity  to  fliriing 

De  Courcy  was  certainly  above  the  meanness  of  envy,  yet  he 
could  not  suppress  a  sigh  as,  wilh  Mrs.  Penelope  and  his  mo- 
ther leaning  on  his  arms,  while  Laura  walked  behind  with  Miss 
B;>lingbroke,  he  followed  Harriet  and  his  friend  into  the  darkened 
path  that  led  to  a  Hermiiage.  The  walk  was  shaded  by  yew,  cy- 
press, and  other  trees  of  dusky  fohage,  which,  closing  into  an 
arch,  excluded  the  gaudy  sunshine.  As  they  proceeded,  the  shade 
deepened  into  twilight,  and  the  heats  of  noon  gave  place  to  re- 
freshing coolness.  Tliepath  terminated  in  apovch  of  wicker-work, 
forming  the  entrance  to  the  hermitage,  the  v>-alls  of  which  were 
composed  of  the  roots  of  tree.s,  on  the  outside  rugged  as  from  the 
hand  of  nnture,  but  v.itliin  polished  and  fancifully  adorned  witli 
shells  and  fossils  Opposite  to  theentrar.ee,  a  rude  curtain  of 
leopard  skin  seemed  to  cover  a  recess  ;  and  Harriet,  hastily  draw- 
ing it  aside,  gave  to  view  a  prospect  gay  with  every  variety  of 
cheerful  beauty.  Ti)e  meadows,  lately  cleared  from  their  burden, 
flisnlayed  a  vivid  green,  and  lig4\t  shadows'  quickly  passed  over 


60 

diem  and  were  gone.  The  corn-fields  were  busy  with  the  first  la 
hours  of  the  harvest.  The  village  spires  were  thickly  sown  in  the 
distance.  More  near,  a  rapid  river  flashed  bright  to  the  sun  ;  yet 
the  blaze  came  chastened  to  the  eye,  for  it  entered  through  an 
awning  close  hung  with  the  graceful  tendrils  of  the  passion  fiower. 

The  party  were  not  soon  weary  of  so  lovely  a  landscape,  and 
returning  to  the  shady  apartment,  found  an  elegant  collation  of 
fruits  and  ices,  supplied  by  the  gallantry  of  Mr,  Bolingbroke. 
Never  was  there  a  more  cheerful  repast.  Lady  Pelham  was  luckily 
in  good  humour,  and  therefore  condescended  to  permit  others  to 
be  so  too.  Laura  happily  for  hei  self,  possessed  a  faculty  not  com- 
inon  to  beauties — she  could  be  contented  where  another  was  the 
chief  object  of  attention ;  and  she  was  actually  enjoying  the  court 
that  was  paid  to  her  i'v\e>  d,  when  accidentally  raising  the  vine 
leaf  which  held  the  fruit  she  was  eating,  she  observed  some  verses 
pencilled  on  the  rustic  table  in  a  hand-writing  familiar  to  her  re- 
collection. 

Sudden  instinct  made  her  hastily  replace  the  leaf,  and  steal  a 
glance  to  see  whetlier  any  other  eye  had  followed  hers.  No  one 
seemed  to  have  noticed  her  ;  but  Laura's  gaiety  had  vanished. 
The  lines  were  distinct,  as  if  recently  traced  ;  and  Laura^s  blood  ran 
chill  at  the  thought,  that,  had  she  even  a  few  hours  sooner  visited 
this  spot,  she  might  have  met  Colonel  Hargrave.  "  He  may  still 
be  near,"  thought  she  ;  and  she  wished,  thcjugh  she  could  not  pro- 
pose, to  be  instantly  gone.  None  of  her  companions,  however, 
seemed  inclined  to  move.  They  continued  their  merriment,  while 
Laura,  her  mind  wholly  occupied  with  one  subject,  again  stole  a 
glimpse  of  the  writing.  It  was  undoubtedly  flargrave's  ;  and, 
deaf  to  all  that  was  passing  around  her,  she  fell  into  a  reverie, 
whicli  was  first  interrupted  by  the  company  rising  to  depart. 

Though  she  had  been  in  such  haste  to  be  gone,  she  was  now  the 
last  to  go.  In  her  momentary  glance  at  the  sonnet,  she  had  ob- 
served that  it  was  inscribed  to  her.  "  Of  what  possible  conse- 
quence," thou^lit  she,  "  can  it  be  to  me  I**  yet  she  lingered  behind 
to  read  it  In  language  half  passionate,  half  melancholy,  it  com- 
plained of  the  pains  of  absence  and  the  cruelty  of  too  rigid  vii'tue  ; 
but  it  broke  ofi  abruptly  as  if  the  writer  had  been  suddenly  inter- 
rupted. 

So  rapidly  did  Laura  glance  over  the  lines,  that  her  companions 
liad  advanced  but  a  few  puces,  ere  she  was  hastening  to  follow 
them.  On  reaching  the  porch,  she  saw  tiiat  tiie  walk  was  entered 
by  two  gentlemen.  An  instant  convinced  her  that  one  of  them  was 
Hargrave.  Neither  shriek  nor  exclamation  announced  this  disco- 
very, but  Laui  a,  turning  pale,  shrunk  back  out  of  view.  Her  first 
feeling  was  eager  desu'e  of  escape  ;  her  first  thought,  tliat,  return- 
ing to  the  inner  apartment,  siie  might  tlience  spring  from  the  lofty 
terrace,  on  tiie  verge  of  which  the  hermitage  was  reared.  She  was 
deterred,  by  recollecting- the  absurd  appearance  of  such  an  escape, 
and  the  surprise  and  confusion  it  would  occasion.  But  wli.it  was  to 
be. done  ?  There  was  no  tliird  way  of  leaving  the  place  where  she 


01 

stood,  and  if  she  remained,  in  a  few  moments  Hargrave  would  be 
there. 

These  ideas  darted  so  confusedly  through  her  mind,  that  it 
seemed  rather  by  instinct  than  design,  that  she  drew  lier  hat  over 
her  face,  and  doubled  her  veil  in  order  to  pass  him  unnoticed.  She 
again  advanced  to  the  porch  ;  but  perceived,  not  without  conster- 
nation, that  Har>grave  had  joined  her  party,  and  stood  talking  to 
Lady  Pelham  in  an  attitude  of  easy  cordiality.  Laura  did  not  com- 
ment upon  the  free  morality  which  accorded  such  a  reception  to 
3uch  a  character  ;  for  she  was  sick  at  heart,  and  trenibled  in  even 
limb.  Now  there  was  no  escape.  He  would  certainly  accost  her, 
and  she  must  answer  him — answer  him  without  emotion !  or  how 
would  Mr  De  Couicy — how  would  his  mother  construe  her  weak- 
ness !  What  would  Hargrave  himself  infer  from  it !  What,  but  that 
her  coldness  sprung  fi-om  mere  passing  anger !  or,  more  degrading 
still,  from  jealousy  ?  The  truant  crimson  now  rushed  back  unbid- 
den ;  and  Laura  proceeded  witli  slow  but  steady  steps. 

Durhig  her  sliort  walk  she  continued  to  sti'uggle  with  herself 
"  Let  me  but  this  once  command  myself,"  said  she.  "  And  where- 
fore should  I  not  ?  It  is  he  who  ought  to  shrink. — It  is  he  who 
ought  to  tremble  !"  Yet  it  was  Laura  who  trembled,  when  advan- 
cing towards  her,  Lady  Pelham  introduced  her  to  Colonel  Har- 
grave as  her  niece.  Laura*s  incUnation  of  the  head,  cold  as  indif- 
ference could  make  it,  did  not  seem  to  acknowledge  former  inti- 
macy ;  and  when  Hargrave,  with  a  manner  respectful  even  to 
timidity,  claimed  her  acquaintance,  she  gave  a  short  answer  of 
frozen  civility,  and  turned  away.  Shrinking  from  even  the  slight- 
est converse  with  him,  she  hastily  passed  on;  then  determined  to 
afford  him  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,  she  glided  in  between 
Mrs.  De  Courcy,  who  stood  anxiously  watching  her,  and  Harriet, 
who  was  studying  the  contour  of  Hargrave's  face;  and  offenng 
an  arm  to  each,  she  gently  drew  them  forward. 

Mr.  Bolingbroke  immediately  joined  them,  and  entered  into  con- 
versation with  Harriet;  while  Mrs.  De  Courcy  continued  to  read 
the  legible  countenance  of  Laura,  v/ho  silently  walked  on,  revolving 
in  her  mind  the  difference  between  this  and  her  last  unexpected 
meeting  with  Hargrave.  The  freedom  of  his  address  to  the  un- 
friended girl  who  was  endeavouring  to  exchange  the  labour  of  her 
hands  for  a  pittance  to  support  existence,  (a  freedom  which  had 
once  found  sympathetic  excuse  in  the  breast  of  Laura),  she  now, 
not  without  indignation,  contrasted  witli  the  respect  offered  to 
Lady  Felham's  niece,  surrounded  by  the  rich  and  the  respectable. 
Yet  while  she  remembered  what  had  then  been  her  half-affected  cold- 
ness, her  ill-restrained  sensibility,  and  compared  them  with  the 
total  alienation  of  heart  which  she  now  experienced,  she  could  not 
stifle  a  sigh  which  rose  at  the  recollection,  that  in  her  the  raptures 
of  love  and  joy  were  chilled  never  more  to  warm.  "  Woidd  that 
my  preference  had  been  more  justly  directed,"  thought  she,  her 
eve  unconsciously  wandering  to  De  Courcv;  "  but  that  is  all  over 
now !"  '  . 


62 

From  idle  regrets,  Laxira  soon  turned  to  more  charatle;  i.^ia 
meditation  upon  the  conduct  most  suitable  for  her  to  pursue, 
llarg-rave  had  jolried  her  party;  had  been  acknowledg-cd,  by  some 
of  them  at  least,  as  an  acquaintance  ;  and  liad  particularly  attached 
himself  to  Lady  Felham,  with  whom  he  followed  in  close  conver- 
sation. Laura  thoug-ht  he  would  probably  take  the  first  opportu- 
nity of  addressing  himself  to  her ;  and  if  her  manner  towards  hira 
corresponded  wiih  the  bent  of  her  feelings,  consciousness  made  her 
fear,  that  in  h^r  distance  and  constraint,  Lady  Pelham's  already 
suspicious  eye  would  read  more  than  merely  dislike  to  a  vicious 
character.  Hargrave  himself,  too,  might  mistake  w^hat  so  nearly 
resembled  her  former  manner  for  the  veil  of  her  former  senti- 
ments. She  might  possibly  escape  speaking  to  him  for  the  pre- 
sent, but  if  he  was  fixed  in  the  neighbourhood,  (and  something  of 
the  woman  whispered  that  he  would  not  leave  it  immediately)  they 
v/ould  probably  meet  where  to  avoid  him  was  not  in  her  power. 
After  some  minutes  of  close  consideration,  she  concluded,  that  to 
treat  Colonel  Hargrave  with  easy  civil  indifference,  best  accorded 
with  wliat  she  owed  to  her  own  dignity;  and  was  best  calculated, 
if  he  retained  one  spark  of  sensibility  or  discernment,  to  convince 
him  that  her  sentiments  had  undergone  an  irrevocable  change, 
riiis  method,  therefore,  she  determined  to  pursue ;  making,  with  a 
Sigh,  this  grand  proviso,  that  she  should  find  it  practicaJile. 

Mrs.  Ue  Courcy,  who  guessed  tlie  current  of  her  thoughts,  suf- 
fered it  to  proceed  without  interruptioH  ;  and  it  was  not  till  Laura 
relaxed  her  brow,  and  raised  her  head,  like  one  who  has  taken  his 
resolution,  that  her  companion,  stopping,  complained  of  fatigue  ; 
proposing,  as  her  own  carriage  was  not  in  waiting,  to  borrow  Lady 
Pelham's,  and  return  home,  leaving  the  other  ladies  to  be  convey- 
<.'d  in  Mrs  Penelope's  sociable  to  Norwood,  where  the  party  was 
ro  dine.  Not  willing  to  direct  the  proposal  to  Laura,  upon  whose 
account  chiefly  it  was  made,  she  then  turned  to  Mrs.  Penelope,  and 
Inquired  wiiether  she  did  not  feel  tired  with  her  walk  ;  but  that 
latly,  who  piqued  herself  upon  being  a  hale  active  woman  of  her 
age,  declared  herfelf  able  for  much  greater  exertion,  and  would 
walk,  she  said,  till  she  had  securedyan  appetite  for  dinner.  Laura, 
who  had  modestly  held  back  till  Mrs.  Penelope's  decision  was  an- 
nounced, now  eagerly  offered  her  attendance,  which  Mrs.  De 
Courcy,  with  a  little  dissembled  hesitation,  accepted,  smiling  to 
perceive  how  well  she  had  divined  her  young  favourite's  inclina- 
tions. 

The  whole  party  attended  them  to  the  spot  where  tlie  cai-riages 
were  waiting.  On  reaching  them,  Mr.  Bolingbroke.  handing  in 
Mrs.  De  Courcy,  left  Laura's  side  for  the  first  time  free  to  liar- 
grave,  w-ho  instantly  occupied  it;  while  Montague,  the  drops 
standing  on  liis  forehead,  found  himself  shackled  between  Mrs. 
Penelope  and  Miss  Bolingbroke.  **  Ever  dear,  ever  revered  Mjss 
Montreville" — Hargrave  began  in  an  insinuating  whisper.  "  Sir  !" 
cried  Laiu-a,  starting  with  indignant  surprise.  **  Nay,  start  not," 
.continued  he  in  iin  under  voice ;  "  I  have  much,  much  to  say.  Lady 


r 


63 


Pelham  allows  me  to  visit  Walbouvne;  will  you  permit  me  to"— 
Laura  had  not  yet  studied  her  lesson  of  easy  civility,  and  therefore 
the  courtesy  of  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  was  contradicted  by 
the  tone  in  which  she  interrupted  him,  saying-,  "1  never  pi  esume, 
sir,  to  select  Lady  Felham's  visitors." 

She  had  reached  the  door  of  the  carriag-e,  and  Ilargrave  took 
her  hand  to  assist  her  in  entering'.  Had  Laura  been  prepared,  she 
\\ould  have  suffered  him,  though  reluctantly,  to  do  her  this  little 
service  ;  but  he  took  her  unawares,  and  snatching  back  her  hand 
as  from  the  touch  of  a  loathsome  reptile,  she  spranij,  unassisted, 
into  her  seat. 

As  the  carriage  drove  off,  Mr«.  De  Courcy  again  apologised  for 
separating  Laura  from  her  compamons ;  "  tiiough  I  know  not,"  ad- 
ded she,  "  whether  I  should  not  rather  take  credit  for  withdrawing 
you  from  such  dangerous  society.  All  ladies  who  have  stray  hearts 
must  guard  tliem  either  in  person  or  by  proxy,  since  this  formida- 
ble Colonel  Hargrave  has  come  among  us."  **  He  has  fortunately 
placed  the  more  respectable  part  of  us  in  perfect  security,"  re- 
turned Laura,  with  a  smile  and  voice  of  such  unembarrassed  sim- 
plicity as  fully  satisfied  her  examiner. 

Had  Laura  spent  a  lifetime  in  studying  to  give  pain,  which,  in- 
deed, was  not  in  all  her  thoughts,  she  could  not  have  inflicted  a 
sharper  sting  on  the  proud  hea^  of  Hargrave,  than  by  the  invo- 
luntary look  and  gesture  with  which  she  quitted  him.  The  idea  of 
inspiring  with  disgust,  unmixed  irresistible  disgust,  the  woman 
up  »j^  hose  affections,  or  rather  upon  whose  passions,  he  had  la- 
bouica  so  zealously,  and  so  long,  had  ever  been  more  than  he 
-  eOuld  bear,  even  when  the  expression  of  her  dislike  had  no  wit- 
ness ;  but  now  slie  had  published  it  to  chattering  misses  and  pry- 
ing old  maids,  and  more  favoured  rivals.  Hargrave  bit  his  lip  till 
the  blood  came;  and,  if  the  lightning  of  the  eye  could  scathe,  his 
wrath  had  been  far  more  deadly  to  others. 

After  walking  for  some  minutes  surly  and  apart,  he  began  to 
•omfort  himself  with  the  hopes  of  future  revenge.  "  She  had 
loved  him,  passionately  loved  him,  and  he  was  certain  she  could 
not  be  so  utterly  changed.  Her  behaviour  was  either  all  affecta- 
tion, or  a  conceit  of  the  strength  of  her  own  mind,  which  all  these 
clever  women  were  so  vain  of  But  the  spark  still  lurked  some- 
where,  whatever  she  might  imagine,  and  if  he  could  turn  her  own 
weapons  against  herself  "—Then,  recollecting  that  he  had  resolved 
to  cultivate  Lady  Pelham,  he  resumed  his  station  by  her  side,  aiid 
was  again  the  courtly,  the  insinuating  Colonel  Hargrave. 

Hargrave  had  lately  acquired  a  friend,  or  ratlier  an  adviser,"(the 
dissolute  have  no  friends)  who  was  admirably  calculated  to  supply 
the  deficiency  of  his  character  as  a  man  of  jileasure,.  Indeed,  t  x- 
cept  in  so  far  as  pleasure  was  his  constant  aim,  no  term  could, 
with  less  justice,  have  been  applied  to  Hargrave  ;  for  his  life  was 
chiefly  divided  between  the  goadings  of  temptations  to  which  lie 
himself  lent  arms,  and  the  pangs  of  self-reproach  wliich  he  could 
Rot  exclude,  and  woidd  not  render  useful.    The  straight  and  nar- 


64 


row 


way  he  hqsi^v  had  a  thought  of  treading,  but  his  wandering's 
Nvere  inore  frequent  than  he  intended,  his  returns  more  ling-ering. 
The  very  strength  of  his  passions  made  him  incapable  of  deep  or 
persevering  deceit;  he  was  humane  to  the  suffering  that  pressed 
itself  on  his  notice,  if  it  came  at  a  convenient  season  ;  and  he  was 
disinterested,  if  neglect  of  gold  deserve  the  name.  Lambert,  his 
new  adviser,  had  no  passions,  no  humanity,  no  neglect  of  gold. 
lie  was  a  gamester. 

The  practice  of  his  profession,  for,  though  a  man  of  family  and 
fortune,  he  made  it  a  profession,  had  rendered  him  skUful  to  dis- 
cern, and  remorseless  to  use  the  weaknesses  of  his  fellow-creatures. 

His  estate  lay  contiguous  to  ,  the  little  town  where  Hargrave 

had  been  quartered  when  he  visited  at  Norwood;  but  the  year 
which  Hargrave  passed  at  was  spent  by  Lambert  almost  en- 
tirely in  London.  Pe  had  returned  however  to  the  country,  had 
been  introduced  to  Hai-grave,  and  had  just  fixed  upon  him  as  an 
easy  prey,  when  the  soldier  was  saved  for  a  time,  by  receiving  inti- 
mation of  his  promotion,  and  orders  to  join  his  regiment  in  a  dis- 
tant county. 

They  met  again  in  an  evil  hour,  just  as  Hargrave  had  half-deter- 
mined to  abandon  as  fruitless  his  search  after  Laura.  The  neces- 
sity of  a  stimulant  was  as  strong  as  ever.  Another  necessity  too 
was  strong,  for  10,000/.  of  dama|fes  had  been  awarded  to  Lord 
Bellamer;  Hargrave  could  not  easily  raise  the  money,  and  Lord 
Lincourt  refused  to  advance  a  shilling.  "  A  pretty  expensive 
pleasure  has  this  Lady  Bellamer  been  to  me,"  said  Hargra-.*^. be- 
stowing on  her  ladyship  a  coarse  enough  epithet ;  for  even  tine 
gentlemen  will  sometimes  call  women  what  they  have  found  them 
to  be.  He  was  prevailed  on  to  try  the  gaming  table  for  the  supply 
)f  both  his  wants,  and  found  that  pleasure  fully  twice  as  expensive. 
His  friend  introduced  him  to  some  of  those  accommodating  gen- 
tlemen who  lend  money  at  illegal  interest,  and  was  even  generous 
enough  to  supply  him  \yhen  they  would  venture  no  more  upon  an 
estate  in  reversion.  Lambert  had  accidentally  heard  of  the  phoenix 
which  had  appeared  at  Walbourne ;  and,  on  comparing  the  descrip- 
tion he  received  of  her  with  that  to  which  with  politic  patience  he 
had  often  listened,  he  had  no  doubt  of  having  found  the  object  of 
Hargrave's  search.  But,  as  it  did  not  suit  his  present  views  that 
the  lover  should  renew  the  pursuit,  he  droptnot  a  hint  of  his  dis- 
covery, listening,  with  a  gamester's  insensibility,  to  the  regrets 
which  burst  forth  amidst  the  struggles  of  expiring  virtue,  for  her 
whose  soft  influence  would  have  led  to  peace  and  honour. 

At  last  a  dispute  arising  between  the  worthy  Mr.  Lambert  and 
hi?  respectable  coadjutors,  as  to  the  partition  of  the  spoil,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  could  more  effectually  monopolize  his  prey 
in  the  country;  and  thither  accordingly  he  was  called  by  pressing 
business.  There  he  was  presently  so  fortunate  as  to  discover  a 
Miss  Montreville,  on  whose  charms  he  descanted  in  a  letter  to 
Hargrave  in  such  terms,  that,  though  he  averred  she  could  not  bo 
Hargrave's  Miss  Montreville,  Hargrave  was  sure  she  could  be  no 


65 

other ;  and  as  liis  informer  expected,  arrived  in shire  as  scon 

as  a  chaise  and  four  could  convey  him  thither. 

Lambert  had  now  a  difficult  game  to  play,  for  he  had  roused  the 
leading  passion,  and  the  collateral  one  could  act  but  feebly  ;  but 
they  who  often  tread  the  crooked  path,  find  pleasures  in  its  intri- 
cacy, vainly  conceiting  that  it  gives  proof  of  their  sagacity,  and 
Lambert  looked  with  pleasure  on  the  obstacles  in  his  way.  Jit 
trusted,  that  while  the  master-spirit  detained  Hargi-ave  within  the 
circle  of  Walbourne,  he  might  dexterously  practise  with  the  lesser 
imp  of  evil. 

Had  liis  letter  afforded  a  clue  to  Laura's  residence,  Hargra\e 
would  have  flown  direct  to  Walbourne,  hut  he  \\  as  first  obliged  to 

stop  at ;  and  Lambert,  with  some  diflficidty,  persuaded  him, 

that,  as  he  was  but  slightly  known  to  Lady  Pelham,  and  probably 
in  disgrace  with  her  protegee,  it  would  be  more  politic  to  dela\ 
his  visit,  and  first  meet  them  at  Lord '^  where  he  had  infor- 
mation that  they  were  to  go  on  the  follov.4ng  day.  "  You  will 
take  your  girl  at  unawares,"  said  he,  **  if  she  be  your  girl  ;  and 
that  is  no  bad  way  of  feeling  your  ground."  The  vanity  of  ex- 
torting from  Laura's  surprise  some  unequivocal  token  of  his  pow- 
er prevailed  on  the  lover  to  delay  the  inter\^iew  till  the  morning  ; 
and,  after  spending  half  the  evening  in  dwelling  on  the  circum- 
stances of  his  last  unexpecte^Brhecting  with  her,  which  distance 
softened  in  his  imagination  to  more  than  its  actual  tenderness,  he. 
early  in  the  morning,  set  out  with  Lambert  for  — — ,  where  lie  took 
post  in  the  hermitage,  as  a  place  which  no  stranger  omitted  {o 
visit. 

Growing  weary  of  waiting,  he  dispatched  Lambert  as  a  scout 
and,  lest  he  should  miss  Laura,  remained  himself  in  the  hermi- 
tage, till  his  emissary  brought  him  information  that  the  party 
were  in  the  picture  gallery.  Thither  he  hastened  ;  but  the  party 
had  already  left  the  house,  and  thus  had  Laura  accidental  warn- 
inp:  of  his  approach.  N'o  reception  could  have  been  more  morti- 
fying to  him,  who  was  prepai'ed  to  support  her  sinking  under  the 
struggle  of  love  and  duty,  of  jealousy  and  pride.  No  struggle 
was  visible  ;  or,  if  there*  was,  it  was  but  a  faint  strife  between 
native  courtesy  and  strong  dislike.  He  had  boasted  to  Lan.bert 
of  her  tenderness  ;  the  specimen  certainly  was  n  t  flattering. 
Most  of  her  companions  were  little  more  gracious  De  Oourcy 
paid  him  no  more  attention  than  bare  civility  required. — With  the 
Bolingbrokes  he  was  unacquainted,  but  tb'?  character  of  his  com- 
panion  was  sufficient  reason  for  their  reserve.  Lady  Pelham  wa?: 
the  only  person  present  who  soothed  his  wounded  vanity  Pieafjcd 
with  the  prospect  of  uurarelling  the  mystery  into  whicli  she  had 
pried  so  lon^  in  vain,  charmed  with  the  easy  gallanli-y  and  adroit 
flattery  of  which  Hargrave,  in  his  cooler  moments,  was  consum 
msttc  master,  she  accepted  his  attentions  with  great  cordiality  , 
while  he  had  the  address  tacitly  to  persuade  her  that  they  were  a. 
tribute  to  her  powers  of  entertaining. 

f2 


66 

Before  they  parted,  she  had  converted  her  permission  to  v'sit 
"NValbourne  into  a  pressing  invitation,  nay,  had  even  hinted  to  l>e 
Courcy  the  propriety  of  asking"  the  Colonel  to  join  the  dinner 
party  that  day  at  Norwood.  The  hint,  however,  was  not  taken  ; 
and  therefore,  in  her  way  home,  Lady  Pelham  indulged  her  fel- 
low-travellers with  sundry  moral  and  ingenious  reflections  con- 
cerning the  folly  of  being  "righteous  over  much  ;"  and  on -the 
alluring  accessible  form  of  the  true  virtue,  contrasted  with  the 
repulsive,  bristly,  hedge-hog-like  make  of  the  false.  Indeed,  it 
must  be  owned,  that  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  her  ladyship's 
conversation  was  rather  sententious  than  agreeable  ;  but  the  rest 
of  the  party,  in  high  good  humour,  overlooked  her  attacks,  or 
parried  them  in  play.  ^   "v'    - 

Montague  had  watched  the  cold  composure  bl'Lanra  on  Mar- 
grave's first  accosting  her,  and  seen  the  gesture  which  repulsed 
him  at  parting  ;  and  tliough  in  the  accompanying  loek  he  lost 
Volumes,  his  conclusions,  on  the  whole,  were  favourable.  Still  a 
doubt  arose,  whether  her  manner  sprung  not  from  the  fleeting 
resentment  of  affection  ;  and  he  was  standing  mournfully  calcu- 
lating the  effects  of  Hargrave's  perseverance,  when  his  mother, 
in  passing  him  as  she  followed  her  guests  to  the  eating-room, 
said,  in  an  emphktical  whisper,  '*I  am  satisfied.  There  is  no 
worm  in  the  bud."  ^ 

Mrs.  De  Courcy's  encouraging  assertion  was  confirmed  by  the 
behaviour  of  Laura  herself;  for  she  maintained  her  usual  serene 
cheerfulness  ;  nor  could  even  the  eye  of  love  detect  more  than 
one  short  fit  of  abstraction ;  and  then  the  subject  of  thought 
seemed  any  thing  rather  than  pleasing  retrospect,  or  glad  antici- 
pation. Tlie  company  of  his  friends,  Harriet's  pointedly  favour- 
able reception  of  Mr.  Bolingbroke's  assiduities,  and  the  rise  of  his 
own  hopes,  all  enlivened  Montague  to  unusual  vivacity,  and  led 
him  to  a  deed  of  daring  which  he  had  ofien  projected,  without 
findiiig  courage  to  perform;  it.  He  thought,  if  he  could  speak  of 
Jlargrave  to  Laura,  and  watch  her  \oice,  her  eye,  her  complexion, 
all  liis  doubts  would  be  solved.  With  this  view,  contriving  to  draw 
her  a  little  apart,  he  ventured,  for  ihe  first  time,  to  name  liis  ri- 
val;  mentioned  Lady  t'clham's  hint  ;  and,  f\\ltcring,  asked  Laura 
wiiether  he  had  not  done  wrong,  in  resisting  it. 

**  Keally,"  answered  Laura  with  a  very  fiatve  smile,  and  a  very 
faint  blush,  "  I  don't  wonder  you  Fhesitate  in  offering  me  such  a 
piece  of  flattery  as  to  ftwk  my  opinion.'* 

"  Do  not  tax  me  with  flat>*;ring you,"  said  De  Courcy  earnestly; 
"  T  would  as  soon  fl alter  an  amWie  ;  but  tell  me  candidly  what 
vou  think."  . 

"  Then,  candidly,"  said  Laura,  raismg  jit^  .^ild  unembarrass- 
ed eye  to  his,  "  I  think  vou  did  right,  perfectly  rigiurr^  refusing 
Tour  countenance  to  a  person  of  Colonel  Uargrave  s  chafitt^ 
While  vice  is  making  her  encroachments  on  every  hand,  ^it  is  not 
for  tke  friend^  of  viitue  to  remove  the  ancient  landmarks. 


67 

Though  this  was  one  of  the  stalest  pieces  of  morality  that  ever 
Montague  had  heard  Laura  utter,  he  could  scarcely  refrain  fron^ 
repaying  it  by  claspint^  her  to  his  heart.  Convinced  that  her  af- 
fections were  free,  he  could  not  contain  his  rapture,  but  exclaim- 
ed, "  Laura,  you  are  an  angel !  and,  if  I  did  not  already  love  be- 
yond all  power  of  expression,  I  should  be"-^He  raised  his  eyes  to 
seek  tliose  of  Laura,  and  met  his  mother's,  fixed  on  him  with  an 
expression  that  compelled  him  to  silence. — "  You  should  be  in  love 
with  me  ;"  said  Laura,  laughing,  and  tilling  up  the  sentence  as  she 
imagined  it  was  meant  to  conclude.  "  Well,  I  shall  be  content 
with  the  second  place." 

Mrs.  De  Courc\ ,  who  had  approached  them,  now  spoke  on  some 
indifferent  subject,  and  saved  her  son  from  a  very  awkward  at- 
tempt at  explanation.  She  drew  her  chair  close  to  Laura,  and 
soon  engaged  her  in  a  conversation  so  ani'm.ated,  that  Montague  for- 
got his  embarrassment,  and  joined  them  with  all  his  natural  ease 
and  cheerfulness.  The  infection  of  his  ease  and  cheerfulness  Lau- 
ra had  ever  found  irresistible.  Flashes  of  wit  and  genius  follow- 
ed the  collusion  of  their  mitids  ;  and  tlie  unstudied  eloquence,  the 
poetic  imagery  of  her  style,  sprung  forth  at  his  touch,  like  blos- 
soms in  the  steps  of  the  fabled  Flora. 

Happy  with  iier  friends,  Lau^i  almost  forgot  the  disagreeable 
adventure  of  the  morning  ;  and,' every  look  and  Word  mutually  be- 
stowing pleasure,  the  little  party  were  as  happy  as  affection  and 
esteem  could  make  them,  when  Lady  Pelliam,  with  an  aspect  like 
a  sea  fog,  and  a  voice  suitably  forbidding,  inquired  whether  her 
niece  would  be  pleased  to  go  home,  or  whetlier  she  preferred 
sitting  chattering  there  all  night.  Laura,  without  any  sign  of 
noticing  the  rudeness  of  this  address,  rose,  and  said  she  v  as  quite 
ready  to  attend  her  la.dyship.  In  vain  did  the  De  Courcys  entreat 
her  to  prolong  her  visit  till  the  morning.  To  dare  to  be  h:.ppy 
without  her  concurrence,  was  treason  against  Lady  Pelliam's  dig- 
nity ;  and  unf  >rtunately  she  was  not  in  a  humour  to  concur  in  the 
joy  of  any  living  thing.  De  Courcy's  reserve  towards  lier  new  fa- 
vourite she  consideied  as  a  tacit  reproof  of  her  own  cordiality  ; 
and  she  had  just  such  a  conviction  that  the  reproof  was  deserveil, 
as  to  make  her  thoroughly  out  of  humour  with  tlie  reprover,  with 
herself,  and  consequently  with  every  body  else.  Determined  to 
interrupt  pleasure  which'she  would  not  share,  the  more  her  hosts 
pressed  her  stay,  the  more  she  hastened  Jitr  dejjarture  ;  and  she 
mingled  her  indifierenj  good  nights  to  them  with  more  energetic 
reprimands  to  the  tardiness  of  her  coachman. 

"  Thank  lieaven,'  said  she,  liirusting  herself  into  the  comer  of 
her  carriage  witli  that  jerk  in  her  motion  which  indicates  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  irritation,  **  to-morrow  we  siiall  probably  see  a 
civdized  being-."  A  short  pause  followed  Laura's  plain  integ- 
rity and  prudence  had  gained  such  ascenc'ency  over  Lady  Pel- 
ham,  that  her  niece's  opmion  was  to  her  ladr  ship  a  kind  of  second 
conscience,^  having  indted,  much  the  same  powers  as  the  first. 
Its  sanction  was  necessary  to  her  quiet,  though  it  had  not  force  to 


68 

control  her  actions.  On  the  present  occasion  she  wished,  abovg 
all  thing's,  to  know  Laura's  sentiments  ;  but  she  would  not  conde- 
scend to  ask  them  directly.  "  Colonel  Hargruve's  manners,  are 
quite  those  of  a  gentleman,"  she  resumed.  The  remark  was  en- 
tirely  ineffectual ;  for  Laura  coolly  assented,  without  inquiring 
whether  he  were  the  civilized  being  whom  LadyPelliam  expected 
to  see.  Another  pause.  •'  Colonel  llargrave  will  be  at  Wal- 
bourUe  to-morrow,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  the  tone  of  her  voice 
sharpening  with  impatience.  "  Will  he,  Ala'am  !"  retui'ned  Lau- 
ra without  moving  a  muscle.  **  If  Miss  Montreville  has  no  ob- 
jections," said  Lady  Pelham,  converting,  by  a  toss  of  her  head  and 
a  twist  of  her  upper  lip,  the  words  of  compliment  into  an  insult. 
**  Probably,"  said  Laura,  with  a  smile,  **  my  objections  would 
make  nu  great  difference." — "  Oh,  to  be  sure  '."  returned  Lady 
Pelham,  *'  it  would  be  lost  labour  to  state  them  to  such  an  obsti- 
nate, unreasonable  person  as  I  am  I  Well.  1  believe  you  are  the 
fii-st  vvlio  ever  accused  me  of  obstinacy."  If  Lady  Pelham  expect- 
ed a  compliment  to  her  pliability^  she  was  disappointed  ;  for  Laura 
only  answered,  "  I  shall  never  presume  to  interfere  in  the  choice 
of  your  ladyship's  visitors,". 

i'hut  she  should  be  thus  compellecl  to  be  explicit  was  more  than 
Lady  Pelham 's  temper  could  endure.  Her  eyes  flashing-  with  rage, 
*'  Superlative  humility  indeed  !"  She  exclaimed  with  a  sneer ;  but 
awed  in  spite  of  herself,  from  the  free  expression  of  iier  fury,  she 
muttered  it  within  her  shut  teeth  in  a  sentence  of  which  the  words 
*'  close"  and  "Jesuitical"  alone  reached  Laura's  ear.  A  long  and 
surly  silence  followed ;  Lady  Pelham's  pride  and  anger  struggling- 
w  ith  her  desire  to  learn  the  foundation  and  extent  of  the  disappro- 
bation which  she  suspected  that  her  conduct  excited,  The  latter, 
at  last,  partly  prevailed  ;  though  Lady  Pelham  still  disclaimed  con- 
descending to  direct  consultation. 

"  Pray,  Miss  Montreville,"  said  she,  "  if  Colonel  Hargrave's  vi- 
sits were  to  i/out  what  mighty  objections  might  your  sanctity  find 
to  them  r" — Laum  had  long  ago  observed  that  a  slight  exertion  of 
her  spii'it  was  the  best  quietus  to  her  aunt's  ill  humour ;  and  there-  ' 
fore,  addi-^ssing  her  with  calm-  austerity,  she  said,  "  Any  young 
woman.  Madam,  who  values  her  reputation,  might  object  to  Colo- 
nel Hargrave's  visits,  merely  on  the  score  of  prudence,  liut  even 
my  *  superlative  humility,'  does  not  reconcile  me  to  company 
which  I  despise  ;  and' my  *  sanctity,'  as  your  ladyship  is  pleased  to 
call  it,  rather  shrinks  from  the  violator  of  laws  divine  and  human." 

Lady  Pelham  withdrew  her  eyes  to  escape  a  glance  which  they 
never  could  stand ;  but,  bridling,  she  said,  *'  Well,  Miss  Montre- 
ville, I  am  neither  young  nor  sanctirnonious,  thei*efore  your  objec- 
tions cannot  apply  to  Colonel  Hargrave's  visits  to  me ;  and  I  am  de- 
termined," continued  she,  speaking  as  if  strength  of  voice  denoted 
strength  of  resolution,  "lam  determined,  that  I  will  not  throw 
away  the  society  of  an  agreeable  man,  to  gratify  the  whims  of  a 
parcel  of  narrow-niinOL-d  bigots.' 

To  this  attack  Laura  answered  only  by  a  smile.    She  smiled  tf? 


G9 

see  herselt'  classed  witli  the  De  Courcys  ;  for  she  had  no  doubt  that 
they  were  the  "  bigtJts"  to  whom  Lady  Pelham  referred.  She 
smiled  too,  to  observe  that  the  boasted  freedom  of  meaner  minds 
is  but  a  poor  attempt  to  hide  from  themselves  the  restraint  impo- 
sed by  the  opinions  of  the  wise  and  good. 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  Laura  took  sanctuary  in  her  own 
apartment ;  but  at  supper  she  met  her  aunt  with  smiles  of  unaffect- 
ed complacency,  and,  according  to  the  plan  which  slie  invariably 
pursued,  appeared  to  have  forgotten  Lady  Pelham's  fit  of  spleen  ; 
by  that  means  enabling  her  aunt  to  recover  from  it  with  as  little 
expense  to  her  pride  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Lady  Pelham  was  not  disappointed  in  her  expectation  of  see- 
ing Colonel  Hargrave  on  the  following  day.  He  called  at  Wal- 
bourne  while  her  ladyship  was  still  at  her  toilet ;  and  was  shown 
into  the  drawing-room,  where  Laura  had  already  taken  her  sta- 
tion. She  rose  to  receive  him,  with  an  air  which  showed  that 
his  visit  gave  her  neither  surprise  nor  pleasure ;  and,  motioning 
him  to  a  distant  seat,  quietly  resumed  her  occupation.  Hargrave 
was  a  little  disconcerted.  He  expected  that  Laura  would  shun 
him,  with  marks  of  strong  resentment,  or  perhaps  with  the  agita- 
tion of  offended  love  ;  and  he  was  prepared  for  nothing  but  to  en- 
treat the  audience  which  she  now  seemed  inclined  to  offer  him. 

Lovers  are  so  accuston>edto  accuse  ladies  of  cruelty,  and  to  find 
ladies  take  pleasure  in  being  so  accused,  that  unlooked-for  kind- 
ness discomposes  them  ;  and  a  favour  unhoped  is  generally  a  fa- 
vour undesired.  The  consciousnes.s  of  ill  desert,  the  frozen  sere- 
nity of  Laura's  manner  deprived  Hargrave  of  courage  to  use  the 
opportunity  which  she  seemed  voluntarily  to  throw  in  his  way. 
He  hesitated,  he  fauUered;  while,  all  unlike  her  former  self, 
Laura  appeared  determined  that  he  should  make,  love,  for  she 
would  not  aid  his  dilemma,  even  by  a  comment  on  the  weather. 
All  the  timidity  which  formerly  marked  her  demeanor  was  now- 
transferred  to  his  ;  and,  arranging  her  work  with  stoical  compo- 
sure, she  raised  her  head  to  listen,  as  Hargrave  approaching  her 
stammered  out  an  incoherent  sentence  expressive  of  his  unalter- 
able love,  and  his  fears  that  he  had  offended  almost  beyond  for- 
giveness. 

Laura  suffered  him  to  conclude  without  interruption;  then  an- 
swered, in  a  voice  mild  but  determined,  "  I  had  some  hopes.  Sir, 
from  your  knowledge  of  my  character  and  sentiments,  tliat,  after 
w;hat  has  passed,  you  could  have  entertained  no  doubts  on  this 
subject — Yet,  lest  even  a  shadow  of  suspense  should  rest  on  your 
mind,  I  have  remained  here  this  morning  on  purpose  to  end  it.    I 


70 

sincerely  grieve  to  hear  that  you  still  retain  the  partiality  you  have' 
been  pleased  to  express,  since  it  is  now  beyond  my  power  to  make 
even  the  least  return  " 

The  utmost  bitterness  of  reproach  would  not  have  struck  so 
chilly  on  the  heart  of  Hargrave  as  these  words,  and  the  manner  in 
which  they  were  uttered.  From  the  principles  of  Laura  he  had 
indeed  dreaded  much  ;  but  he  had  feared  nothing  from  her  indiffer- 
ence. He  had  feared  that  duty  might  obtain  a  partial  victory  ;  but 
he  had  never  doubted  that  inclination  would  survive  the  struggle. 
With  a  mixture  of  doubt,  surprise,  and  anguish,  he  continued  to 
gaze  upon  her  after  she  was  silent ;  then  starting,  he  exclaimed— 
'"  I  will  not  believe  it ;  it  is  impossible.  Oh,  Laura,  choose  some 
other  V.  ay  to  stab,  for  I  cannot  bear  this  !" — "It  pains  me,"  said 
Laura,  in  a  voice  of  undissembled  concern,  **  to  add  disappoint- 
ment to  the  pangs  which  you  cannot  but  feel ;  yet  it  were  most 
blameable  now  to  cherish  in  you  the  faintest  expectation."  **  Stop,'* 
cried  Hargrave,  vehemently,  **  if  you  would'  not  have  me  utterly 
undone.  I  have  never  known  peace  or  innocence  but  in  the  hope 
of  your  love  ;  leave  me  a  dawnmg  of  that  hope,  however  distant. 
Nay,  do  not  look  as  if  it  were  impossible.  When  you  thought  me 
a  libertine,  a  seducer — all  that  you  can  now  think  me,  you  suffered 
me  to  hope.  Let  me  but  begin  my  trial  now,  and  all  woman-kind 
shall  not  lure  me  from  you  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Laura,  *'  when  I  dreamt  of  the  success  of  that  trial, 
a  strange  infatuation  hung  over  me.  Now  it  has  passed  away  for 
ever  Sincerely  do  I  wish  and  pray  for  your  repentance,  but  1  can 
lio  longer  offer  to  reward  it.  My  desire  for  your  reformation  will 
hencefo.t  i  be  as  disinterested  as  sincere." 

Half  distracted  with  the  cutting  calmness  of  her  manner,  so 
changed  since  the  time  when  every  feature  spoke  the  struggles  of 
the  heart,  when  the  mind's  whole  strength  seemed  collected  to  re- 
sist  iis  tenderness.  Hurgrave  again  vehemently  refused  to  believe 
in  her  indifference.  **  'Tis  bat  a  few  shoi  t  months,"  he  cried,  grasp- 
ing her  hand  with  a  violence  that  made  her  turn  pale  ;  "  'tis  but  a 
few  short  months  since  you  loved  me  with  your  whole  soul,  since 
you  said  that  your  peace  depended  upon  my  return  to  virtue.  And 
dare  you  ansv/er  it  to  yourself  to  cast  away  the  influence,  the  only 
influence  that  can  secure  me  ?" 

**  If  I  have  any  influence  with  you,"  returned  Laura,  with  a  look 
and  attitude  of  earnest  entreaty,  "  let  it  but  this  once  prevail,  and 
then  be  laid  aside  for  ever.  Let  me  persuade  you  to  the  review  of 
your  conduct ;  to  the  consideration  of^your  prospects  as  an  account- 
able being,  of  the  vengeance  that  awaits  the  impenitent,  of  the  es- 
cape offered  in  the  go.«,pel.  As  you  value  your  hi^jpiness,  let  n  e 
thus  far  prevail.  Or  if  it  will  move  you  more,"  continued  she,  the 
tears  gushing  from  her  eyes,  "  I  will  beseech  you  to  grant  this, 
my  only  request,  in  memory  of  a  love  that  mourned  your  unworthi- 
ness  almost  unto  death." 

**  The  sight  of  her  emotion  revived  Hargrave's  hopes  ;  and  cast- 
ing himself  at  her  feet,  he  passionately  declared,  while  she  shu4- 


71 

dered  at  the  Impious  sentiment,  that  he  asked  no  Leaven  but  bet 
love,  and  cared  not  what  were  his  fate  if  she  were  lost  "  "  Ah,  Sir," 
said  she,  with  pious  solemnity,  *' believe  me,  the  time  is  not  dis- 
tant when  the  disappointment  of  this  passion  will  srem  to  you  a 

I    sorrow  light  as  the  baffled  sports  of  childhood.     Believe  the  testi- 

I  mony  of  one  who  but  lately  drew  near  to  the  gates  of  the  grave. 
On  a  death-bed,  guilt  appears  the  only  real  misery;  and  lesser 

I  evils  are  lost  amidst  its  horror  like  shadows  in  the  midnight 
gloom," 

i  .  The  ideas  which  liaura  was  labotiring  to  introduce  into  the 
mind  of  Ilargrave  were  such  as  he  had  of  late  too  successfully 
endeavoured  to  exclude.  They  had  intruded  like  importunate 
creditors  ;  till,  oft  refused  admittance,  they  had  ceased  to  return. 
The  same  arts  which  he  had  used  to  disguise  from  himself  the 
extent  of  his  criminality,  he  now  naturally  employed  to  extenuate 
it  in  the  sight  of  Laura.  He  assured  her  that  he  was  less  guilty 
than  she  supposed  ;  that  she  could  form  no  idoa  of  the  force  of 
temptation  which  had  overcome  him  ;  that  Lady  Bellamer  was  less 
the  victim  of  his  passions  than  of  her  own;  he  vehemently  pro- 
tested that  he  despised  and  abhorred  the  wanton  who  had  undone 
him  ;  and  that,  even  in  the  midst  of  a  folly  for  which  he  now  exe- 
crated himself,  his  affections  had  never  wandered  from  their  first 
object.  While  he  spoke,  Laura  in  confusion  cast  down  her  eyes, 
and  offended  modesty  sut" used  her  face  and  neck  with  crimson. 
She  could  indeed  form  no  idea  of  a  ht*art  which,  attached  to  one 
woman,  could  find  any  temptation  in  the  allurements  of  another. 
But  when  he  ended,  virtuous  indignation  flashing  in  her  counte- 
nance, "  For  shame,  Sir  !"  said  slie.  "  If  any  thing  could  degnule 
you  in  my  eyes,  it  were  this  mean  attempt  to  screen  yourself  be- 
Jiind  the  partner  of  your  wickedness.  Docs  it  lessen  your  guilt 
that  it  had  not  even  the  poor  excuse  of  passion  ;  or  think  you  that, 
even  in  the  hours  of  a  weakness  for  which  you  have  given  me  such 
just  reason  to  despise  myself,  I  could  havo^prized  the  affections  of 
a  heart  so  depraved  ?  You  say  you  detest  your  crime  ;  1  fear  you 
only  detest  its  punishment  ;  for,  were  you  really  repentant,  my 
opinion,  the  opinion  of  the  whole  world,  would  seem  to  you  a  trifle 
unworthy  of  regard,  and  the  utmost  bitterness  of  censure  be  but 

■*  an  echo  to  your  own  self-upraidings  " 

'<  Hargrave  had  no  inclination  to  discuss  the  nature  of  repentance. 
His  sole  desire  was  to  wrest  from  Laura  some  token,  however 
slight,  of  returning  tenderness.  For  this  purpose  he  employed  all 
the  eloquence  w^hich  he  had  often  found  successful  in  similar  at- 
tempts.    But  no  two  things  can  be  more  different  in  their  effects, 

',  than  the  language  of  passion  poured  into  the  sympathising  bosom 
of  mutual  love,  or  addressed  to  the  dull  ear  of  indifference.  The 
expressions  which  Laura  once  thought  capable  of  warming  the 
coldest  heart  seemed  now  the  mere  ravings  of  insanity  ;  the  lamen- 
tations which  she  once  thought  might  have  softened  rocks,  now 
appeared  the  weak  comft|uinings  of  a  child  for  his  lost  toy.  With 
a  mi  xture  of  pity  and  cUsgust  she  listened  and  replied';  till  the 


72 

entrance  of  Lady  Pelham  put  a  period  to  the  dialogue,  and  Laura 
immediately  quitted  the  room.  ^^■. 

Lady  Pelliam  easily  perceived  that  the  conversation  had  been 
particular  ;  and  Hargrave  did  not  long  leave  her  in  doubt  as  to 
the  subject.  He  acquainted  her  with  his  pretensions  to  Laura, 
and  beg-g-ed  her  sanction  to  his  addresses  ;  assuring  her  that  his 
intercourse  with  Lady  Bellamer  was  entirely  broken  off,  and  that 
his  marriage  would  secure  his  permanent  reformation.  He  com- 
plimented Lady  Pelham  upon  her  liberality  of  sentiment  and  know- 
ledge of  the  world  ;  from  both  of  which  he  had  hopes,  he  said, 
that  she  would  not  consider  one  error  as  sufficient  to  blast  his  cha- 
racter. Lady  Pelham  made  a  little  decent  hesitation  on  the  score 
of  Lady  Bellamer's  prior  claims  ;  but  was  assured  that  no  engage- 
ment had  ever  subsisted  there.  ♦*She  hoped  Lord  Linco^rt  would 
not  be  averse.'*  She  was  told  that  Lord  Lincourt  anxiously  de- 
sired to  see  his  nephew  settled.  "  She  hoped  Colonel  Hargrave 
was  resolved  that  his  married  life  should  be  irreproachable.  Laura 
had  a  great  deal  of  sensibility,  it  would  break  her  heart  to  be  neg- 
lected ;  and  Lady  Pelham  was  sure,  that  in  that  case  the  thought 
of  having  consented  to  the  dear  child's  misery  would  be  more  than 
she  could  support  1"  Her  ladyship  was  vanquished  by  ^n  assur- 
ance, that  for  Laura  to  be  neglected  by  her  happy  husband  wa& 
utterly  impossible 

"  Laura's  incliiiations  then  must  be  consulted  ;  every  thing  de- 
pended upon  her  concurrence,  for  the  sweet  girl  had  really  so . 
wound  herself  round  Lady  Pelham's  heart,  that  positively  her  la- 
dyship could  not  bear  to  give  her  a  moment's  uneasiness,  or  to 
press  her  upon  a  subject  to  which  she  was  at  all  averse."  And, 
strange  as  it  may  seem.  Lady  Pelham  at  that  moment  believed 
herself  incapable  of  distressing  the  person  whom,  in  fact,  she  tor- 
mented with  ceaseless  ingenuity  !  Hargrave  answered  by  confess- 
ing his  fears  that  he  was  for  the  present  less  in  favour  than  he  had 
once  been  ;  but  he  disclosed  l-Aura's  former  confessions  of  par- 
tiality, and  insinuated  his  Qonviction  that  it  was  smothered  rather 
than  extinguished. 

Lady  Pelham  could  now  account  fbr  Laura's  long  illness  and  low 
spirits  ;  and  she  listened  with  ©ager  curiosity  to  the  solution  of 
the  enigma,  which  had  so  long  perplexed  her.  She  considered 
whether  she  should  relate  to  the  lover  the  sorrows  he  had  caused. 
She  judged  (for  Lady  Pelham  often  jMc/§-e  J  properly )  that  it  would 
be  indelicate  thus  to  proclaim  to  him  the  extent  of  his  power ;  but, 
with  the  usual  inconsistency  between  her  judgment  and  her  prac- 
tice, in  half  an  hour  she  had  informed  him  of  all  that  she  had  ob- 
served, and  hinted  all  that  she  suspected.  Hargrave  listened,  was 
convinced,  and  avowed  his  conviction  that  Lady  Pelham's  influ- 
ence was  alone  necessary  to  secure  his  success.  Her  ladyship  said, 
"  that  she  should^feel  some  delicacy  in  using  any  strong  influence 
with  her  nieoe^  as' the  amiable  orphan  had  no  friend  but  herself, 
had  owed  somewhat  to  her  kmdness,  and  might  be  biassed  by  gra- 
titude against  her  own  inclination.     The  fortune  which  she  meant 


73 

to  bequeath  to  Laura  might  by  some  be  thoxig-Iit  to  confer  a  right 
to  advise;  but,  for  her  part,  she  tliought  lier  little  all  was  no  more 
than  due  to  the  person  whose  tender  assiduities  filled  the  blar.k 
which  had  been  left  in  her  ladyship's  maternal  heart  by  the  ingra- 
litude  and  disobedience  of  he  child."  This  sentiment  was  pro- 
nounced  in  atone  so  pathetic,  and  in  language  so  harmonious,  that, 

..  though  it  did  not  for  a  moment  impose  upon  her  hearer,  it  deceiv- 
ed Lady  rdham  herself,-  and  she  shed  tears,  which  she  actually 
injagined  to  be  forced  from,  her  by  the  mingled  emotions  of  grati- 
tude and  of  disappointed  tenderness. 

Lady  Pelham  hiid  no\v-ertered  on  a  subject  inc3chaustlble  ;  her 
own  feelings,  her  uwn  misfortunes,  her  oMn  dear  self.  Kargrave, 
who  in  his  hours  of  tolerable  composure  was  the  most  polite:  of 
men,  listened,  or  appeared  to  listen,  with  unconquerable  patience, 
till  he  fortunately  recollected  an  appointment  which  his  interest  iu 
her  ladyship's  conversation  had  before  banished  from  his  mind; 
when  he  took  his  leave,  bearhig  with  him  a  very  gracious  invita- 
tion to  repeat  his  visit. 

With  him  departed  [,ady  Pelham's  fit  of  scntlmentalitv ;  and, 

;  in  five  minutes,  she  had  dried  her  eyes,  composed  the  pa'ragrapli 
which  was  to  announce  the  marriage  of  Lord  Lincourt  (for  she-. 
hilled  oft  the  old  peer  witliout  ceremony)  to  the  lovely  heiress  of 
the  amiable  Lady  Pelham;  taken  possession  of  her  niece's  barouclic 
and  four,  and  heard  herself  announced  as  the  benefactress  of  this 
new  wonder  of  the  world'of  fashion.  She  woidd  cut  off  her  rebel- 
lious daughter  with  a  shilling ;  give  her  up  to  the  begg-ary  and  ob- 
scurity which  she  had  chosen,  and  leave  her  whole  fortune  to  Lad\ 
Lincourt;  for  so,  in  the  fulness  of  her  content,  she  called  Laura. 
After  some  time  enjoying  her  niece's  prospects,  or  to  speak  moie 
justly,  her  own,  she  began  to  think  of  discovering  how  near  thcv 

■  might  be  to  their  accomplishment}  and,  for  this  purpose,  she  suni- 
moned  Laura  to  a  conference. 

Lady  Pelham  loved  nothing  on  earth  but  herself;  yet  vanitw 
gratified  curiosity,  and,  above  all,  the  detection  of  a  mere  huiuaii 
weakness  reducing  Laura  somewhat  more  to  her  own  level  awaken- 
ed in  her  bi-east  an  emotion  resembling  affoction  ;  as,  throwing  her 
arm.s  roimd  her  niece,  she,  in  language  half  sportive,  half  tender, 
declared  her  knov.U dge  of  Laura's  secret,  and  reproaclied  her  witli 

-having  concealed  it  so  well.  Insulted,  v.'rongcd,  and  forsaken  by 
Hargrave,  Laura  had  kept  his  secret  inviolable,  for  she  had  no 
right  to  disclose  it ;  but  she  scorned,  by  any  evasion,  to  preserve 
her  own.  Glowing  with  shame  and  mortification,  she  stood  silently 
shrinking  from  Lady  Pelham's  looks  ;  till,  a  little  recovering  her- 
self, she  said,  "  I  deserve  to  be  thus  humbled  for  mv  folly  in  found- 
ing my  regards,  not  on  the  worth  of  their'object,  but  on  mv  own 
imagination  ;  and  more,  if  it  be  possible,  do  I  deserve,  for  ex- 
posing my  weakness  Vo  one  who  has  been  so  ungenerous  as  to  boast 
of  it.  But  it  is  some  compensation  to  mv  pride,*'  continued  she 
raising  her  eyes,  "  that  my  disorder  is  cured  beyond  the  possibih! 
ty  of  relapse."    Lady  Pelham  smiled  at  Laura's  security,  which 

G 


'^^ 


74 


aiie  did  not  consider  as  an  infallible  sig-n  of  safety.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Laura  proceeded  solcninly  to  protest  her  indifference.  Lady 
Pelham  could  allow  for  self-deceit  in  another's  case,  though  she 
never  suspected  it  in  her  own.  Vain  were  Laura's  comments  upon 
Ilargrave's  character  ;  they  were  but  the  fond  reviling-s  of  offended 
love.  Laura  did  not  deny  her  former  preference  ;  she  even  owned 
that , it  was  the  sudden  intellig-ence  of  Hargrave's  crimes  which 
had'  reduced  her  to  the  brink  of  the  ^ave  ;  therefore  liady  Pel- 
ham  was  convinced  that  a  little  perseverance  would  fan  the  smo- 
thered flame  ;  and  perseverance,  she  hoped,  would  not  be  wanting-. 
Nevertheless,  as  her  ladyship  balanced  her  fondness  for  contra- 
dicting- by  her  aversion  to  being  contradicted,  and  as  Laura  was 
too  much  in  earnest  to  study  the  qualifying  tone,  the  conference 
concluded  rather  less  amicably  than  it  began  ;  though  it  ended  by 
Lady  Pelham's  saying,  not  very  consistently  with  her  sentiments 
an  hour  before,  that  she  would  never  cease  to  urge  so  advanta- 
geous a  match,  conceivingthat  she  had  a  right  to  influence  the  choice 
of  one  whom  she  would  make  the  heiress  of  forty  thousand  pounds, 
Laura  was  going  to  insist  that  all  influence  would  be  Ineffectual, 
but  her  aunt  quitted  her  without  suffering  her  to  reply.  She  would 
have  followed  to  represent  the  injustice  of  depriving'iVfrs.  Herbert 
of  her  natural  rights  ;  but  she  desisted  on  recollecting  that  Lady 
Pelham's  purposes  were  like  wedges,  never  fixed  but  by  resist- 
ance. , 

The  time  had  been  when  Lady  Pelham*s  fortune  would  have 
seemed  to  Hargrave  as  dust  in  the  balance,  joined  with  the  pos- 
session of  Laura.  He  had  gamed,  had  felt  the  want  of  money  ;  and 
money  was  no  longer  indifferent  to  him.  But  Laura's  dower  was 
still  light  in  his  estimation,  compared  with  its  weight  in  that  of 
Lambert,  to  whom  he  incidentally  mentioned  Lady  Pelham's  inten- 
tion. That  prudent  person  calculated  that  40,000/.  would  form  a 
very  handsome  addition  to  a  fund  upon  which  he  intended  to,draw 
pretty  freely.  He  had  little  doubt  of  Hargrave's  success  :  he  had 
never  known  any  woman  with  whom  such  a  lover  could  fail.  He 
thought  he  could  lead  his  friend  to  bargain  for  immediate  posses- 
sion of  part  of  his  bride's  portion,  and,  for  certainty  of  the  rest  in 
reversion,  before  parting  with  his  liberty.  He  allowed  two,  or 
perhaps  even  three  months  for  the  duration  of  Laura's  influence  ; 
during  which  time  he  feared  he  should  have  little  of  her  husband's 
company  at  the  gaming-table ;  but  from  thenceforth,  he  judged 
that  the  day  would  be  his  own,  and  that  he  should  soon  possess 
himself  of  Hargrave's  property,  so  far  as  it  was  alienable.  He  con- 
sidered that,  in  the  meantime,  Laura  would  furnish  attraction  suf- 
ficient to  secure  Hargrave's  stay  at  '-,  and  he  trusted  to  his 
ow^n  dexterity  for  impr</'ving  that  circumstance  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. He  failed  not,  therefore,  to  encourage  the  lover's  hopes,  and 
bestowed  no  small  ridicule  on  the  idea  that  a  girl  of  nineteen 
should  desert  a  favo\u*ite  on  account  of  a  little  gallantry. 

Cool  cunning  would  engage  with  fearful  odds  against  impru- 
dence, if  it  could  set  bounds  to  the  passions,  as  well  as  direct  their 


F 


75 


of»urse.  Rut  it  is  often  deceived  in  estimating  the  force  of  feeling-s 
which  it  knows  only  by  their  effects.  Lambert  soon*  found  that 
Kc  had  opened  the  passage  to  a  torrent  which  bore  all  before  it. — 
The  favourite  stimulus  found,  its  temporary  substitute  was  almost 
(disregarded  ;  and  llavgrave,  intoxicated  with  his  passion,  tasted 
sparingly  of  the  poisoned  cup  which  his  friend  de.signed  for  him. 
His  time  and  thoughts  were  again  devoted  to  Laura,  and  gaming 
\yas  only  sought  as  a  relief  from  the  disappointment  and  vexation 

'  which  generally  attended  his  pursuit.  The  irritation  of  his  mind, 
however,  made  amends  for  the  lessened  number  of  opportunities 
for  plundering  him,  by  rendering  it  easier  to  take  advantage  of 
those  whicli  remained. 

The  iiisinnatii'.g  manners  and  elegant  person  of  Ilargrave  gained 
dally  on  tlie  favoiir  of  Lady  Felham  ;  for  the  great  as  well  as  the 
little  vulgar  are  the  slaves'of  mere  externals.  She  permitted  his 
visits  at  home  al^d  his  attendance  abroad,  expatiating  frequently 

•  on  the  liberality  of  sentiment  which  she  thus  displayed.  At  first 
these  encomiums  on  her  own  conduct  were  used  only  to  disguise 
from  herself  and  others  her  consciousness  of  its  impropriety;  but 
she  repeated  them  till  she  actually  believed  them  just,  and  consi- 
dered herself  as  extending  a  charitable  hand  to  rescue  an  erring 
brother  from  the  implacable  malignity  of  the  world. 

She  was  indefatigable  in  her  attempts  to  promote  his  success 
with  Laura.  She  lost  no  opportunity  of  pressing  the  subject.  She 
obstinately  refused  to  be  convinced  of  the  possibility  of  overcoming 
a  strong  prepossession.  Laura,  in  an  evil  hour  for  herself,  thought- 
lessly replied,  tliat  affection  was  founded  on  the  belief  of  excel- 
lence, and  must  of  course  give  way  when  the  foundation  w^as  re- 
moved. This  observation  had  just  fallacy  sufficient  for  Lady  Pel- 
ham's  purpose.  She  took  it  for  her  text,  and  harangued  upon  it 
with  all  the  zeal  and  perseverance  of  disputation.     She  called  it 

,  Laura's  theory  ;  and  insisted  that,  like  other  theorists,  she  would 
shut  her  eyes  against  the  plainest  facts,  nay,  stifle  the  feelings  of 

,  her  own  mind,  rather  than  admit  what  might  controvert  her  opi- 
nion. She  cited  all  the  instances  which  her  memory  could  furnish 
of  agricultural,   and  chemical,  and  metaphysical  theorism  ;  and, 

,  with  astonishing  ingenuity,  contrived  to  draw  a  parallel  between 
each  of  them  and  Laura's  case.  It  was  in  vain  that  Laura  qualified, 
almost  retracted  her  unluckly  observation.  Her  adversary  would 
not  suffer  her  to  desert  the  untenable  ground.  Delighted  with  her 
victory,  she  returned  again  and  again  to  the  attack,  after  the  van- 
quished had  appealed  to  her  mercy  ;  and  much  more  than  "  thrice 
»he  slew  the  slain." 

Sick  of  arguing  about  the  possibility  of  het  indifference,  Laura 
at  length  confined  lierself  to  simple  as.sertions  of  the  fact.  Lndy 
Pelham  at  first  merely  refused  her  belief;  and,  with  provoking- 
pity,  rallied  her  niece  upon  her  self-deceit  ;  but,  finding  that  she 
corroborated  her  words  by  a  corresponding  behaviour  to  Har- 
f^^ruve.  her  ladyship's  temper  betrayed  its  accustomed  infirmity. 
^be  peevishly  reproached  Laura  with  taking  a  coquettish  delight 


76 


in  g-ivin^^pain  ;  iftsistcd  tliat  her  conduct  wns  a  tissue  ^f  cruelty 
and  tiffectation  ;  and  upbraided  her  with  dising-enuousness  in  pre- 
tending-'^ an  indificrence  wliich  she  could  not  feel.  **  And  dots 
your  ladjship  communicate  this  opinion  to  Colonel  Hargrave  ?" 
said  Laura,  one  day,  fretted  almost  beyond  her  patience  by  a  re- 
monstrance of  two  hours  continuance.  "  To  be  sure  I  do,'*  re- 
turned Lady  Pelham.  **  In  common  humanity  I  will  not  allow  him 
to  suffer  more  from  yotir  perverscness  than  I  can  avoid,"  "  Well, 
]\radam,"  said  Laura,  with  a  sigh  and  shrug  of  impatient  resigna- 
tion, "  nothing  remains  but  that  I  show  a  consistency,  which,  at 
least,  is  not  common  to  affectation." 

Lady  Pelham's  representations  had  their  effect  upon  Hargrave. 
They  brought  balm  to  his  wounded  pride,  and  he  easily  suffered 
them  to  counteract  the  effect  of  Laura's  calm  and  uniform  assu- 
rances of  her  indifference.  While  he  listened  to  these,  her  apparent 
candour  and  simplicity,  the  regret  s!ie  expressed  at  the  necessity 
of  giving  pain,  brought  temporary  conviction  to  his  mind  ;  and, 
with  transports  of  alternate  rage  and  grief,  he  now  execrated  her 
inconstancy,  then  his  own  unworthiness  ;  now  abjured  her,  then 
the  vices  which  had  deprived  him  of  her  affection.  But  the  joint 
efforts  of  Lady  Pelham  and  Lambert  always  revived  hopes  suffi- 
cient to  make  him  continue  a  pursuit  which  he  had  not  indeed  the 
fortitude  to  relinquish. 

His  love  (if  we  must  give  that  name  to  a  selfish  desire,  mingled 
at  times  with  every  ungentle  feeling,)  had  never  been  so  ardent. 
The  well-known  principle  of  our  nature,  which  adds  charms  to 
wjiat  is  unattainable,  lent  new  attractions  to  Laura's  really  im- 
proved loveliness.  The  smile  which  was  reserved  for  others 
seemed  but  the  more  enchanting;  the  hand  which  he  was  forbid- 
den to  touch  seemed  bvit  the  more  soft  and  snowy  ;  th>e  form  which 
was  kept  sacred  from  his  approach,  bewitched  iiim  widi  more  re- 
sistless graces.  Hargrave  had  been  little  accustomed  to  suppress 
any  of  his  feelings,  and  he  gave  vent  to  this  with  an  entire  neglect 
of'tha  visible  uneasiness  which  it  occasioned  to  its  object.  He 
employed  the  private  interviews,  which  Lady  Pelham  contrived  to 
extort  for  him,  in  the  utmost  vehemence  of  complaint,  protesta- 
tion, and  entreaty.  He  laboured  to  awakeo  the  pity  of  Laura;  he 
even  condescended  to  appeal  to  her  ambition  ;  and  persevered,  in 
spite  of  unequivocal  denials,  till  Laura,  disgusted,  positively  re- 
fused  ever  again  to  admit  him  without  witnesses. 

His  p'iblic  attentions  were,  if  possible,  still  more  distressing  to 
her.  Kncouragcd  by  Lady  Pelham,  he,  notwithstanding  the  al- 
most repulsive  coldness  of  Loura's  manner,  became  her  onstunt 
attendant.  H.-.  pursued  her  wherever  she  went  5  .placed  hiinself, 
in  defiance  of  propriety,  so  a^  to  monopolize  her  convcr-<ation  ; 
a!id  seemed  to  have  laid  aside  all  his  distinguishing  politeness, 
while  he  ne.urlected  every  other  woman  to  devote  his  ussiduiiles  to 
h<;r  alone.  He  claimed  the  station  by  her  side  till  Laura  had  the 
mortification  to  observe  that  others  resignrd  it  r.t  liis  nppro.-uh  ; 
he  snatched  every  opportunity  of  v,hi=:peringhis  adulations  in  her 


77 

e*p ;  and,  far  from  afTectlng'  any  concealment  in  his  preference, 
seemed  to  claim  the  character  of  her  acknowledged  adorer.  It  is 
impossible  to  express  the  vexation  with  which  Laura  endured  this 
indeUcate  pre-eminence.  Had  Hargrave  been  the  most  irreproach- 
able of  mankind,  she  would  have  shrunk  from  such  obtrusive 
marks  of  his  partiality;  but  her  sense  of  propriety  was  no  less 
wounded  by  the  attendance  of  such  a  companion,  than  her  modes- 
ty was  shocked  by  her  being  thus  dragged  into  tlie  notice,  and 
committed  to  the  mercy  of  the  public.  The  exclusive  attentions 
of  the  handsome  Colonel  Hargrave,  the  mirror  of  gallantry,  die 
future  Lord  Lincouit,  were  not,  however  unde^ired,  to  be  pos- 
sessed unenvied.  Those  who  unsuccessfully  angled  for  his  no- 
tice, avenged  themselves  on  her  to  whom  they  imputed  their  fail- 
ure, by  looks  of  scorn,  and  by  sarcastic  remarks,  which  they 
sometimes  contrived  should  reach  the  ear  of  the  innocent  object 
of  their  malice.  Laura,  unspeakably  averse  to  being  the  subject 
of  even  laudatory  observation,  could  sometimes  scarcely  restrain 
the  tears  of  shame  and  mortification  that  were  wrung  from  her  by 
attacks  which  she  could  neither  resent  nor  escape.  In  spite  of 
tlie  natural  sweetness  of  her  temper,  she  was  sometimes  tempted 
to  retort  upon  Colonel  Hargrave  the  vexation  which  he  caused  to 
her ;  and  his  officiousness  almost  compelled  her  to  forsake  the 
civility  within  the  bounds  of  which  she  had  determined  to  confine 
her  coldness. 

He  complained  bitterly  of  this  treatment,  and  reproached  her 
with  taking  ungenerous  advantage  of  his  passion.  '•  Why  then,'* 
said  she,  "  will  you  force  me  into  the  insolence  of  power  ?  If  you 
will  suffer  me  to  consider  you  as  a  common  acquaintance,  I  shall 
never  claim  a  right  to  avenge  on  you  the  wrongs  of  society  ;  but 
approach  no  nearer. — I  am  unwilling  to  express  a  sentiment  less 
respectful  than  dislike."  The  proud  spirit  of  Hargrave,  however, 
could  ill  brook  the  repulses  which  he  constantly  provoked  ;  and 
often  in  transports  of  rage  he  would  break  from  Laura,  swearing 
thp.the  would  no  more  submit  to  be  tlius  made  the  sport  of  an  in- 
sensible tyrannical  woman. 

At  first  she  submitted  with  patience  to  his  injurious  language, 
in  the  hope  that  he  would  keep  his  oaths ;  but  she  soon  found 
that  he  only  repaid  her  endurance  of  his  anger  by  making  her 
submit  to  what  was  yet  more  painful,  a  renewal  of  liis  abject 
supplications.  All  her  caution  could  not  prevent  the  private  in- 
terviews which  slie  granted  so  unwillingly.  He  haunted  her 
walks,  stole  upon  her  unannounced,  detained  her  almost  by  force 
at  these  accidental  meetings,  or  at  those  which  he  obtained  by 
the  favour  of  Lndy  Pelham.  His  whole  conduct  conspired  to  make 
him  an  object  of  real  dread  to  Laura,  though  her  watchful  self- 
command  and  habitual  benevolence  preserved  him  from  her  aver- 
sion- 

Sometimes  she  could  not  help  wondering  at  the  obstinacy  of  her 
persecutor.  ♦*  Surely,"  said  she  to  him,  '*  after  all  I  have  said, 
after  the  manner  in  which  I  have  said  it,  you  cannot  expect  any 

G  2 


78 

fruit  from  all  these  rhapsodies  ;  ymi  must  merely  think  your  ho- 
iiour  bound  to  keep  them  up,  at  whatever  hazard  to  the  credit  of 
your  understanding-.'*  Laura  had  never  herself  submitted  to  be 
driven  into  a  course  of  actions  contrary  to  reason,  and  it  never  oc- 
curred to  her  that  her  lover  had  no  reasox  for  !»is  conduct,  except 
that  he  was  not  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  desist  from  his 
pursuit. 

From  the  importunities  of  Hargrave,  however,  Laura  could 
sometimes  escape.  Though  they  were  frequent,  they  were  of 
i.*i;essity  intermitting.  He  could  not  always  be  at  Walbourne  ; 
he  could  not  intrude  into  her  apartment.  She  visited  sometimes 
where  he  was  not  admitted,  or  she  could  decline  the  invitation 
which  she  knew  extended  to  him.  But  her  persecutions  by  Lady 
Pclham  had  no  intermission  ;  from  them  she  had  no  retreat. 
Her  chamber  was  no  sanctuaify  from  so  familiar  a  friend  ;  and  the 
presence  of  strangers  only  served  to  exercise  her  ladyship  in 
that  ingenious  species  of  conversation  which  addresses  to  the 
sense  of  one  of  the  company  what  it  conveys  to  the  ear  of  the 
rest. 

For  some  time  she  employed  all  her  forces  in  combatting-  Lau- 
ra's supposed  affectation  ;  and  when,  not  without  extreme  diffi- 
culty, she  Was  convinced  that  she  strove  against  a  phantom  of  her 
own  Creation,  she  next  employed  her  efforts  to  alter  her  niece's 
determination.  Shp  tried  to  rouse  her  ambition;  and  again  and 
again  expatiated  on  all  the  real  and  on  all  the  imaginary  advanta- 
ges of  wealth  aiid  title.  The  theme  in  her  ladyship's  hands  seem- 
ed inexhaustibtfe,  though  Laura  repeatedly  declared  that  no  earth- 
ly thing  could  be  less  in  her  esteem  than  distinctions  whidi 
she  must  share  with  such  a  person  as  Hargrave.  Every  day 
and  all  day,  the  subject  was  canvassed,  and  tlie  oft-confnted 
argument  vamped  up  anew,  till  Laura  was  thorwighly  weary 
of  the  very  names  of  rank,  and  influence,  and  coronets,  and 
coaches. 

Next,  her  ladyship  was  eloquent  upon  Laura's  implacability, 
*•  Those  who  were  so  very  unforgiving,"  she  supposed,  "  weie 
conscious  that  they  had  no  need  to  be  forgiven.  Such  people 
might  pretend  to  be  Christians,  but  in  her  opinion  such  preten- 
sions were  mere  hypocrisy."  Laura  stood  amazed  at  the  strength 
of  self-deception,  which  eould  produce  this  sentiment  from  lips 
which  had  pronounced  inextinguishable  resentment  against  an 
only  child.  Recovering  herself,  she  calmly  made  the  obvious  re- 
ply, "  that  she  entertained  no  enmity  against  Hargrave  ;  that  on 
the  contrary,  she  sincerely  wished  him  every  blessing,  and  the 
best  of  all  blessings,  a  renewed  mind  ;  but  that  the  Christian  pre- 
cept was  never  meant  to  make  the  vicious  and  the  impure  the 
denizens  of  dur  bosoms."  It  might  be  thought  that  such  a  reply 
was  quite  sufficient,  but  Lady  Pelham  possessed  one  grand  quali- 
fication for  a  disputant ;  she  defied  conviction.  She  could  shift, 
and  turn,  and  bewilder,  till  she  found  herself  precisely  at  the 
goiutfrom  whence  she  set  out. 


79 

S'ue  had  ii  practice,  too,  of  all  others  the  most  galling  to  an  in- 
q-enuousand  ii  dependent  spirit — she  would  invent  a  set  of  opinions 
and  sentinicnts,  and  liven  argue  upon  them  as  if  they  were  real. 
It  was  in  vain  for  Laura  to  disclaim  them.  Lady  Pelham  could 
prove,  incontrovertibly  that  they  wf-re  Laura's  sentiments  ;  or, 
which  was  the  same  thing,  proceeded  as  if  she  bad  proved  it.  She 
insisted  that  Laura  acted  on  a  principle  of  revenge  against 
Hnrgrave,  for  the  slight  his  inconstancy  luid  put  upon  her ;  and 
argued  most  con\  incingly  on  the  folly  and  wickedness  of  a  revenge- 
ful spirit.  Laura  in  vain  protested  her  innocence  Lady  Pelham 
vascertainof  the  fact  ;  and  she  dilated  on  the  guilt  of  such  a  sen- 
timent, and  extenuated  the  temporary  secession  of  Hargravc,  till 
a  by-standcr  must  have  concluded  that  Laura  was  the  delinquent, 
anci  he  her  harmless  victim.  Her  ladyship  declared,  that  "she 
did  not  wonder  at  her  niece's  obduracy.  She  had  never,  in  her 
life,  known  a  person  of  cool  temper  who  was  capable  of  forgiving. 
She  had' reason,  for  her  own  part,  to  be  thankful  that,  if  she  had 
the  failings  of  a  warm  temper,  she  had  its  advantages  too.  She 
had  never,  except  in  one  instance,  known  what  it  was  to  feel  per- 
manent displeasure."  .  '^ 

On  this  topic  Lady  Pelham  had  the  more  room  for  her  eloquence, 
because  it  admitted  of  no  reply  ;  r.nd,  perhaps,  for  this  reason,  it 
was  the  sooner  exhausted  ;  for  it  had  not  been  discussed  above 
"  half  a  dozen  times,  before  she  forsook  it  in  order  to  assert  her 
claims  to  influence  her  niece's  decision.  And  here  her  ladyship 
was  suddenly  convinced  of  the  indefeasible  rights  of  relationship. 
**  She  stood  in  the  place  of  Laura's  parents,  and  in  their  title  might 
claim  authority."  But  finding  Laura  firmly  of  opinion  that  paren- 
tal authority  extended  no  further  Uian  a  negative  voice.  Lady 
Pelham  laid  aside  the  imperative  tone  to  take  up  that  of  entreaty. 
"She  would  not  advance  the  claim  which  her  tried  friendship 
might  give  her  to  advise  ;  she  would  only  beseech,  conjure.  She 
hoped  her  importunities  would  be  forgiven,  as  they  could  proceed 
only  from  thetenderest  regard  to  her  dear  girl's  welfare.  Laura 
was  her  only  hope  ;  the  sole  being  on  earth  to  whom  her  widow- 
ed heart  clung  with  partial  affection — and  to  see  her  thus  throw 
away  her  happiness  was  more  than  her  ladyship  could  bear." 
Closely  as  Laura  had  studied  her  aunt's  character,  and  well  as  it 
was  now  known  to  her,  she  was  sometimes  overpowered  by  these 
expressions  of  love  and  sorrow  ;  and  wept  as  she  was  compelled 
to  repeat  that  her  happiness  and  her  duty  must  alike  be  sacrificed 
ere  she  could  yield  to  the  wishes  of  her  friend.  But  as  she  never, 
even  in  these  moments  of  softness,  betrayed  the  smallest  symp- 
torn  of  compliance,  Lady  Pelham  had  not  patience  to  adhere  to  the 
only  method  of  attack  that  possessed  a  chance  of  success. 

Of  all  her  arts  of  teazing,  this  was  indeed  the^vmost  distressing 
to  a  person  of  Laura's  sensibility,  and  she  felt  W!iit  a  little  relieved 
when,  exasperated  by  the  failure  of  all  her  efforts.  Lady  Pelham 
burst  into  vehement  upbraidings  of  her  niece's  hardness  of  heart. 
-*  She  could  liot  have  conceived,"  she  said,  "  such  obduracy  inoHe 


80 

$6  young  ;  In  woman  too  ;  a  creature  who  should  be  all  made  up  of 
softness.  Layra  might  pique  herself  upon  her  stoicism,  but  a  Zeno 
in  petticoats  was,  in  her  opinion,  a  monster.  For  her  part,  she  ne- 
ver could  resist  entreaty  in  her  life." 

"  Then  I  beseech  you,  Madam,"  said  Laura,  after  having  pa* 
tiently  submitted  to  he  baited  thus  for  three  full  hours,  "  do  not 
make  mine  an  exception;  but  for  pity's  sake  be  prevailed  upon  to 
drop  this  subject,  1  assure  vou  it  can  have  no  effect  but  to  distress 
me." 

**  You  maybe  determined.  Miss  Montreville,  that  all  my  endea- 
vours-shall be  vain,  but  I  shall  certainly  never  be  so  far  wanting 
to  my  duty  as  to  neglect  pressing  upon  you  a  match  so  much  for 
your  honour  and  advantage." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Laura,  losing  patience  at  this  prospect  of 
the  continuation  of  her  persecutions,  "  that  your  ladyship  can 
think  it  for  my  *  advantage'  to  marry  a  man  I  despise ;  for  my  *  ho- 
nour' to  share  the  infamy  of  an  adulterer  !" 

•*  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Montreville,"  returned  lady  Pelham, 
reddening  with  anger,  **  I  am  constrained  to  admire  the  delicacy 
of  your  language,;  so  very  suitable  to  the  lips  of  so  very  delicate  a 
lady." 

A  smile,  not  wholly  free  from  sarcasm,  played  on  Laura's  lips. 
"  If  delicacy,"  said  she,  "  be  henceforth  to  find  so  strenuous  a 
supporter  in  your  ladyship,  I  shall  hope  to  be  exempted  in  future 
from  all  remonstrance  on  the  subject  of  this  evening's  altercation.'* 

If  Laura  really  entertained  the  hope  she  mentioned,  she  was 
miserably  disappointed  ;  for  Lady  Pelham  remitted  not  a  jot  of 
her  tormentings.  Her  remonstrances  were  administered  in  every 
possible  form,  upon  every  possible  occasion.  They  seasoned  every 
tete-^-tete,  were  insinuated  into  every  conversation.  Laura's  at- 
tempts to  avoid  the  subject  were  altogether  vain.  The  discourse 
might  begin  with  the  conquest  of  Gengis  Khan,  but  it  always  end- 
ed with  the  advantages  of  marrying  Colonel  Hargrave. 

Teazed  and  persecuted,  disturbed  iiv  every  useful  occupation 
and  every  domestic  enjoyment,  Laura  often  considered  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  delivering  herself  from  her  indefatigable  tormentors/by 
quitting  the  protection  of  her  aunt,  and  taking  refuge  with  Mrs. 
Douglas.  But  this  plan  she  had  unfortunately  deprived  herself  of 
the  means  of  executing. 

Laura  knew  that  her  cousins,  the  Herberts,  were  poor.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Herbert  was  in  a  situation  which  needs  comforts 
that  poverty  cannot  command,  and  it  was  in  vain  to  expect  these 
comforts  from  the  maternal  compassion  of  Lady  Pelham.  Slie 
therefore  determined  to  supply  them,  as  far  as  possible,  from  her 
own  little  fund  ;  and  fearing  that  a  gift  from  her  might  revolt  the 
high  spirit  of  Herbert,  she  inclosed  almost  all  her  half-year's  an- 
nuity m  a  blank  cover,  and  con^^eyed  it  to  her  cousin.  All  that  she 
retained  was  a  sum  far  too  small  to  defray  the  expense  of  a  journey 
to  Scotland  ;  and  several  months  were  to  elapse  before  she  could 
recruit  her  fund.  Till  then,  she  had  no  resource  but  patience ;  and 


.61 

she  endeavoured  to  console  herself  with  a  hope  that  in  time  the 
perseverance  of  her  adversaries  would  fail. 

Often  did  she  with  a  sigli  turn  lier  eyes  towards  Norwood — Nor- 
wood, tlie  seat  of  all  the  peaceful  domestic  virtues  j  where  the 
voice  of  contention  was  unheard;  where  courtly  politeness,  though 
duly  honoured,  held  the  second  place  to  the  courtesy  of  the  hean. 
But  Mrs.  De  Courcy  had  never  hinted  a  wish  that  Laura  should  be 
a  permanent  inmate  of  her  family;  and,  even  if  she  had.  there 
would  have  been  a  g^larlng  impropriety  in  forsaking^  Lady  Pel- 
ham's  house  for  one  in  its  immediate  ncig-hboarhood.  De  Courcy, 
too,  she  thought,  was  not  the  kind  friend  he  was  wont  to  be.  She 
had  of  late  seen  him  seldom,  wUicli  was  probably  caused  by  the 
marked  coolness  of  Lady  Pelham's  reception  ;  but  it  had  happen- 
ed unfortunately  that  he  had  twice  surprised  her  in  the  midst  of 
Ilarg-rave^s  extravagancies,  when  she  almost  feared  to  speak  to 
him,  lest  she  should  awaken  the  furious  jealousy  to  which  her  tor- 
mentor was  subject,  and  she  dreaded  that  her  father's  friend  (for 
so  she  loved  to  call  him)  suspected  her  of  encourag-inp  the  ad- 
dresses of  such  a  lover.  During  these  visits  he  had  looked,  she 
thought,  displeased,  and  had  early  taken  leave.  Was  it  kind  to 
judge  her  unheard.  Perhaps,  if  an  opportunity  had  been  given  lier, 
she  might  have  assumed  courage  to  exculpate  herself;  but,  with- 
out even  calling  to  ask  her  commands,  De  Courcy  was  gone  with 
Mr.  Bolingbroke  to  London,  to  make  ai'rangcments  fgr  Harriet's 
marriage. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Though  Laura  could  not  escape  the  attacks  of  I  ady  Pelhaftr, 
she  sometimes  found  means  to  elude  those  of  Hargrave.  She 
watched  his  approach,  and  whenever  he  appeared,  intrenched  her* 
sel£in  her  own  apartment.  She  confined  herself  almost  entirely 
to  the  house,  and  excused  herself  from  every  visit  where  she 
thought  he  might  be  of  the  party.  He  besieged  her  with  letters  ; 
she  sent  them  back  unopened.  I^ady  Pelham  commanded  her  to 
be  present  during  his  visits  ;  she  respectfully,  but  peremptorily, 
refused  to  comply.     ^ 

Slie  had  thus  roniained  a  sort  of  prisoner  for  some  weeks,  when 
hvr  aimt  one  morniog  entered  her  room  with  an  aspect  which  Laura 
cu.:!(l  not  veil  decypher.  *•  Well,  Miss  Montreville,'*  said  she, 
"  you  have  at  last  accomplished  your  ptuposc  ;  your  capricious 
tvranny  JuiS  prevailed  at  Inst;  Colonel  Flargrave  leaves —— this 
nvtrnini^."  "  Dear  .Madam.'*  cr'.ed  Laura,  starting  up  overjoyed, 
"  what  a  deliverance  !"  **  Oh  to  be  sure,  mighty  cause  you  have 
to  cong-iatulate  yourself  upon  a  deliverance  from  a  man  who  might 
1  spire  to  the  first  woman  in  England  !  But  you  will  never  have  it  in. 


ybcr  powe/  to  throw  away  such  another  offer.     You  need  hardly 
expect  to  awaken  such  another  passion." 

"  I  hope,  with  all  my  heart,  I  shall  not ;  but  are  you  certain  he 
will  g-o  V  "  Oh,  very  certain.  He  lias  written  to  tell  me  so  !"  "  I 
trust  he  will  keep  his  word,"  said  Lam^a  ;  "  and  when  I  am  sure 
he  is  g"one,  I  will  beg  of  your  ladyship  to  excuse  me  for  a  few: 
hours,  while  I  walk  to  Norwood.  I  have  been  so  shackled 
of  late  !  but  the  first  use  I  make  of  my  liberty  sliall  be  to 
visit  my  friends "  **  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,"  returned  Lady 
Pelham,  with  more  g-entleness  tlian  she  was  accustomed  to 
use  in  contradiction,  "you  will  scarcely  fmd  time  to  visit  Mrs, 
De  Courcy.  I  have  long  promised  to  pass  some  time  with  my 
friend  Mrs.  Bathurst;  and  I  propose  setting  off  to-morrow.  I 
should  die  of  enmti  here,  now  1  have  lost  the  society  tliat  has  of 
late  given  me  so  much  pleasure."  "  Mrs.  Uathurst,  Madam,  she 
who  was  formerly" — '*  Poh,  poh,  child,"  interrupied  Lady  Pelhara, 
**  don't  stir  up  the  embers  of  decayed  slander — Will  you  never 
learn  to  forget  the  little  mistakes  of  your  fellow  creatures  ?  Mrs. 
Bathurst  makes  one  of  the  best  wives  in  the  world  ;  and  to  a  man 
with  whom  every  body  would  not  live  so  well." 

Practice  had  made  Laura  pretty  expert  in  interpreting  her  aunt's 
language,  and  she  understood  more  in  the  present  instance  than  it 
was  meant  she  should  comprehend.  She  had  heard  of  Airs.  Ba- 
thurst's  fame,  and,  knowing  that  it  was  not  quite  spotless,  was  ra- 
ther averse  to  being  the  companion  of  Lady  Pelham's  visit  ;  but 
she  never,  without  mature  deliberation,  refused  compliance  with 
her  aunt*s  wishes  ;  and  she  resolved  to  consider  the  matter  before 
announcing  opposition.  Besides,  she  was  determined  to  carry  her 
point  of  seeing  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  and  therefore  did  not  wish  to  in- 
troduce any  other  subject  of  altercation.  "Though  I  should  ac- 
company you  to-iriorrow,  Madam,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  have  time 
sufficient  for  my  walk  to  Norwood.  The  preparations  for  my  jour- 
ney cannot  occupy  an  hour  ;  and,  if  I  go  to  Norwood  now,"  added 
she,  tying  on  her  bonnet,  "  I  can  return  early.  Good  morning.  Ma- 
dam ;  to-day  I  may  walk  in  peace." 

Laura  felt  as  if  a  mountain  had  been  lifted  from  her  breast  as 
she  bounded  across  the  lawn,  and  thought  that  Colonel  Hargrave 
was,  by  this  time,  miles  distant  from  Walbourne  ;  but  as  she  pur- 
sued her  way,  she  began  to  wonder  that  Lady  Pelham  seemed  so 
little  moved  by  his  departure.  It  was  strange  that  she,  who  had 
remonstrated  so  warmly,  so  unceasingly,  against  Laura's  behaviour 
to  him,  did  not  more  vehemently  upraid  her  with  its  consequences. 
Lady  Pelham's  forbearance  was  not  in  character — Laura  did  not 
know  how  to  explain  it>  "  I  have  taken  her  by  surprise,"  thought 
she,  **v.'ith  my  excursion  to  Norwood,  but  she  will  discuss  it  at 
large  in  the  evening ;  and  probably  in  many  an  evening — ^I  shall 
never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

It  was  needless,  however,  to  anticipate  evil,  and  jLaura  turned 
her  thoughts  to  the  explanation  which  she  was  bent  upon  making 
to  her  friends.    Th.i  anore  she  reflected,  the  more  she  was  persn-a- 


83 

ded  that  De  Courcy  suspected  her  of  encouraging  the  addresses  of 
Hargrave  ;  addresses  now  provoking-ly  notorious  to  all  tlie  neigh- 
bourIu)od.  He  had  most  probably  communicated  the  same  opinion 
to  his  mother ;  and  Laura  wished  much  to  exculpate  herself,  if  she 
could  do  so  without  appearing  officiously  communicative.  If  she 
could  meet  Mr.  De  Courcy  alone,  if  he  sliould  lead  to  the  subject, 
or  if  it  should  accidentally  occur,  she  thought  she  might  be  able 
to  speak  freely  to  him  ;  more  freely  than  even  to  Mrs.  De  C<»urcy. 
*«  It  is  strange,  too,*'  thought  she,  "  that  I  should  feel  so  little  re- 
straint with  a  person  of  the  other  sex  ;  less  than  ever  1  did  with 
one  of  my  own.  But  my  father's  friend  ought  not  to  be  classed 
with  other  men.'* 

Her  eyes  yet  swam  in  tears  of  grateful  recollection,  when  she 
raised  them  to  a  horseman  who  was  meeting  her.  It  was  Mon- 
tague De  Courcy ;  and,  as  he  leisurely  advanced,  Laura's  heart 
beat  with  a  hope  that  he  would,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  dis- 
mount to  accompany  her  walk.  But  Montague,  though  evidently 
in  no  haste  to  reach  the  place  of  his  destination,  stopped  only  to 
make  a  slight  inquiry  after  her  health,  and  tlien  passed  on.  Laura's 
bosom  swelled  with  grief,  unmixed  with  resentment.  "  He  thinks,'* 
said  she,  **  that  I  invite  the  attentions  of  a  libertine ;  and  is  it  sur- 
prising that  he  shoidd  withdraw  his  friendship  from  me  !  But  he 
will  soon  know  his  error."  And  again  she  more  cheerfully  pur- 
sued her  way.  .-■-.— A 

Her  courage  failed  her  a  little  as  she  entered  Norwood.  "  What 
if  Mrs.  De  Courcy  too  should  receive  me  coldly,'*  thought  ihe  ; 
**  Can  I  notice  it  to  her  ?  Can  1  beg  of  her  to  listen  to  ray  justifica- 
tion ?"  These  thoughts  gave  Laura  an  air  of  timidity  and  em- 
barrassment as  she  entered  the  room  where  Mrs.  De  Courcy 
was  sitting  alone.  Her  fears  were  groundless.  Mrs.  Ue  Courcy 
received  her  with  kindness,  gently  reproaching  her  for  her  long 
absence.  Laura  assured  her  that  it  was  wholly  involuntary,  but 
**  of  late,"  said  she,  hesitating,  •*  I  have  been  very  little  from 
home."  Mrs.  De  Courcy  gave  a  faint  melancholy  smile  ;  but  did 
not  inquire  what  had  confined  her  young  friend.  "  Harriet  has 
just  left  me,'*  said  she,  **topay  some  visits,  and  to  secure  the 
presence  of  a  companion  for  a  very  important  occasion.  She  meant 
also  to  solicit  yours,  if  three  weeks  hence  you  are  still  to  be  capa- 
ble of  acting  as  a  bridemaid."  Laura  smiling  was  about  to  reply, 
that  being  in  no  danger  of  forfeiting  that  privilege,  she  would 
most  joj^ully  attend  Miss  De  Courcy  ;  but  she  met  a  glance  of  such 
marked,  such  mournful  scrutiny,  that  she  stopped  ;  and  the  next 
moment  was  covered  with  blushes.  **  Ah  !"  thought  she,  *'  Mrs. 
De  Courcy  indeed  believes  all  tliat  I  feared,  and  more  than  I  fear- 
ed— What  can  I  say  to  her  ?'* 

Her  embarrassment  confirmed  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  belief ;  but, 
unwilling  further  to  distress  Laura,  she  said,  **  Harriet  herself 
will  talk  over  all  these  matters  with  you,  and  then  your  own  pecu- 
liar manner  will  soften  the  refusal  into  somewhat  almost  as  plea- 
sing as  consent ;  if  indeed  you  are  obliged  to  refuse."    *^  Indeed, 


84 

Madam,"  said  Laura,  "  notliin^  can  be  further  fiom  rajr  iboughls 
llian  refusal  ;  I  shall  most  willingly,  most  gladly,  attend  Miss  De 
Courc}  ;  but  may  I — will  you  allow  me  t<i — ^to  ask  you  why  you 
sliould  expect  me  to  refuse  V  "  And  if  I  answer  you,"  retrained  Mrs. 
De  Courcy,  "  will  you  promise  to  be  candid  with  me  on  a  subject 
wliere  ladies  think  that  candour  may  be  dispensed  with  ?"  '*  I 
w  ill  promise  to  be  candid  with  you  on  every  subject,*'  said  Laura, 
rejoiced  at  tliis  opportunity  of  enterinq-  on  her  justification. 
"  Then  I  will  own  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  "  that  circum- 
.^tances  have  conspired  with  public  report  to  convince  me  that 
you  are  yourself  about  to  need  the  g-ood  office  wliich  Harriet  soli- 
cits fiom  you.  Colonel  Harg'rave  and  you  share  between  you  the 
envy  of  our  little  world  of  fasluon."  "And  have  you.  Madam — 
has  Harriet — has  Mr.  De  Courcy  given  credit  to  this  vexatious  re- 
port {"  cried  Laura,  the  tears  of  mortification  filling-  her  eyes. 
*'  Ah  how  diifcrently  should  I  have  judged  of  you  !"• — "  My  dear- 
est girl,"  said  Mr.'?.  De  Courcy,  surprised  but  deliglited,  "  1  as- 
sure you  that  none  of  us  Would,  upon  slight  grounds,  believe  v.ny 
thing  concerning  you,  that  you  would  not  Wish  us  to  credit.  Uut, 
in  tliis  instance,  I  thought  my  authority  indisputable  ;  Lady  Pel- 
ham" — "  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Laura,  "  that  my  aunt  could  propa- 
gate such  a  report,  when  she  knew  the  teazing,  the  persecution 
that  I  have  endured  ?"  "  Lads-  Pelham  did  not  directly  assure  me 
of  its  truth  ;"  answered  Mrs.  De  C^ourcy  :  "  but  when  1  ^nade  in- 
Cjtiiries,  somewluit,  1  o\\Ti,  in  the  hope  of  being  empowered  to 
contradict  the  rumour,  her  answer  was  certainly  calculated  to  make 
me  believe  that  you  were  soon  to  be  lost  to  us." — "  Lost  indeed  !'* 
exclaimed  Laura.  "  Uut  what  could  be  my  aunt's  intention  ? 
Surely  she  cannot  still  expect  to  prevail  with  me.  My  dear 
friend,  if  you  knew  what  I  have  suilered  from  her  importunities. — 
But  she  has  only  my  advantage  in  view,  though,  surely,  she  wide- 
ly mistakes  the  means." 

Laura  now  frankly  informed  Mrs.  De  Courcy  of  the  inquietude 
she  had  suffered  from  tlie  ])ersevering  remonstrances  of  Lady  Pel- 
liam,  and  the  obtrusive  assiduities  of  [largrave.  .Mrs.  De  Courcy, 
though  she  sincerely  pitied  tlie  comfortless  situation  of  Laura, 
listened  with  pleasure  to  the  tale.  "  And  is  all  this  confidential  ?" 
said  she,  "so  confidential  J.hat  I  must  not  mention  it  even  to 
Moiitague  or  Harriet  V  "  Oh  no,  indeed.  Madam,"  cried  Laura  ; 
**  I  wish,  above  ^^11  things,  that  Mr.  De  Courcy  should  know  it ; 
tell  him  all,  Madam;  and  tell  him  too,  that  I  would  rather  be  in 
my  grave  than  marry  Colonel  Hargrave."  Laura  had  scarcely 
spoken  ere  she  blushed  for  the  warmth  with  which  she  spoke,  and 
Mrs.  De  Courcy's  smile  made  her  blush  again,  and  more  deeply. 
But  the  plea  wliich  excused  her  to  herself  she  the  next  moment 
urged  to  her  friend.  "Ah,  Madam,"  said  she,  "if  you  had  wit- 
nessed Mr.  De  Courcy's  kindness  to  my  father  ;  if  you  had  known 
how  my  father  loved  him,  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  am  anx- 
ious for  his  good  opinion.'*  "  1  do  not  wonder,  my  love,"  said 
Mrs,  De  Courcy,  in  a  tone  of  heaitfelt  affection.     "  I  should  be 


85 

much  more  surprised  If  such  a  mind  as  yours  could  undervalue 
the  esteem  of  a  man  like  Montague  But  why  did  not  my  sweet 
Laura  take  refug-e  from  her  tormentors  at  Norwood,  where  no 
ofiicioiis  friends,  no  obtrusive  lovers  would  have  disturbed  her 
quiet  ?" 

Laura  excused  herself,  by  saying  that  she  was  sure  her  aiuit 
would  never  have  consented  to  her  absence  for  more  than  a  few 
hours  ;  but  she  promised,  now  that  Lady  Pelliam's  particular  rea- 
son for  detaining  her  was  removed,  that  she  would  endeavour  to 
obtain  permission  to  spend  some  time  at  Norwood.     *'  I  fear  I 
must   first  pay  a  much  less   agreeable   visit,"  continued  Laura, 
*'  for  my    unt  talks  of  carrying  me  to-morrow  to  the  house  of  a 
Mrs.   Bathurst,  of  whom  you   probably  have  heard."     Mrs.   Do 
Courcy  knew  that  Lady    Pelham   was  on  terms   of  intimacy  with 
^Irs,  Bathurst,  yet  she  could  not  help  feeling  some  surprise  that 
she  should  choose  to  introduce  her  niece  to  such  a  chapevon.     She 
did  not,  however,  think  it  proper,  by  expressing  her  opinion,  to 
heighten  Laura's  reluctance  towards  what  she  probably  could  not 
prevefit ;  and  therefore  merely  expressed  a  strong  wish  that  Lady 
Pelham  would  permit  Laura  to  spend  tlie  time  of  her  absence  at 
Norv/ood.     Laura,  though  she  heartily  wished  the  same,  knew 
her  aunt  too  well  to  expect  that  a  purpose  which  she  had  once 
announced  she  would  relinquish  merely  because  it  interfered  with 
the  inclinations  of  others.  Still  it  was  not  impossible  that  it  might 
be  reUnquished.     A  thousand  things  might  happen  to  alter  Lady 
Pelham's  resolutions,  though    they  were  invincible   by   entreaty. 
Laura  lingered  with  Mrs.  De  Courcy  for  several  hours,  and  when 
at  last  she  was  obliged  to  go,  received,  at  parting,  many  a  kind 
injunction  to  remember  her  promised  visit.    As  she  bent  her  steps 
homeward,  she  revolved  in  her  mind  every  chance  of  escape  from 
being  the  companion  of  her  aunt's  journey.     She  was   the  more 
averse  to  attend  Lady  Pelham  because  she  conjectured  that  they 
would  not   return   before  Miss   De  Courcy's  marriage,  on   which 
occasion  Laura  was  unwilling  to  be  absent.     But  she  was  sensible 
that  neither  this  nor  any  other  reason  she  could  urge,  would  in 
the  least  affect  Lady  Pelham's  motions,    Derham  Green,  the  seat 
of  Mrs.  Bathurst,  was  above  ninety  miles  from  Walbourne  ;  and 
it  was  not  likely  that  Lady  Pelham  would  travel  so  far  with  the  in- 
tention of  making  a  short  visit. 

Laiira  had  quitted  the  avenue  of  Norwood  and  entered  the  lane 
which  led  to  that  of  Walbourne,  when  the  noise  of  singing,  for  it 
could  not  be  called  music,  made  her  look  round  ;  and  she  per- 
ceived that  she  was  overtaken  by  a  figure  in  a  dingy  regimental 
coat,  and  a  rusty  hat,  wliich,  however,  regained  somewhat  of  its 
original  shade  by  a  contrast  with  the  grey  side -locks  which  blew 
up  athwart  it.  This  person  was  applying  the  whole  force  of  his 
lungs  to  the  utterance  of  **  Hearts  of  Oak,'*  in  a  voice,  the  mascu- 
line bass  of  which  was  at  times  oddly  interrupted  by  the  weak 
treble  tones  of  age,  while,  with  a  large  crabstick,  he  beat  time 
against  the  sides  of  a  staiTeling  ass  upon  which  he  was  mounted 

H 


.^: 


86 

The  other  hand  was  charged  with  the  double  employment  of  g-uld- 
ing-the  animal,  and  of  balancing  a  large  portmanteau,  which  was 
placed  across  its  shoulders.  Laura,  retaining  the  habits  of  her 
country,  addressed  the  man  with  a  few  words  of  courtesy,  to 
which  he  leplied  with  the  frankness  and  garrulity  of  an  old  Eng- 
lishman ;  and  as  they  proceeded  at  much  the  same  pace,  they  con- 
tinued the  conversation.  ]t  was,  however,  soon  interrupted.  At 
the  gate  of  a  grass  field,  with  which  the  ass  seemed  acquainted, 
the  creature  made  a  full  stop. — "  Get  on,"  cried  the  man,  striking 
it  with  his  heel.  It  would  not  stir.  Tlie  rider  applied  the  crab- 
stick  more  vigorously  than  before.  It  had  no  effect  ;  even  an  aSs 
can  despise  the  chastisement  with  which  it  is  too  familiar.  The 
contention  was  obstinate  ;  neither  party  seemed  incFmed  to  yield. 
At  last  fortune  decided  in  favour  of  the  ass.  The  portmanteau 
slipped  from  its  balance,  and  fell  to  the  ground.  The  man  look- 
ed dolefully  at  it.  •*  How  the  plague  shall  I  get  it  up  again  ?" 
said  he.  *'  Don't  dismount,"  said  Laura,  who  now  fir.st  ob- 
served that  her  companion  Lad  but  one  leg — "  I  can  lift  it 
for  you.'* 

As  she  raised  it,  Laura  observed  that  it  was  directed  to  Mr. 

Jones,  at  Squire  Bathurst's,   Derham  Green,  shire.     Though 

the  name  was  too  common  to  excite  any  suspicion,  the  address 
struck  her  as  being  to  ti»e  same  place  which  l»ad  so  lately  occupi- 
ed her  thoughts.  "  Have  you  far  to  go  ?'*  said  she  to  the  man. 
•*  No,  Ma'am,**  answered  he,  "  only  to  Job  Wilson,  the  carrier's, 
with  this  portmanteau,  for  Colonel  Hargrave's  gentleman.  The 
Colonel  took  Mr.  Jones  with  himself  in  the  chaj',  but  he  had  only 
room  for  one  or  two  of  his  boxes,  so  he  left  this  wth  the  groom, 
and  Ihe  groom  gave  me  a  pot  of  porter  to  go  with  it." 

The  whole  affair  was  now  clear.  Lady  Pelham,  finding  Laura 
nnmanageable  at  home,  was  contriving  that  she  should  meet  Col- 
onel Hai'grave  at  a  place  where,  being  among  strangers,  she  would 
find  it  less  possible  to  avoid  him.  Mrs.  Bathurst  too  was  probably 
a  good  convenient  friend,  who  would  countenance  whatever  mea- 
sures were  thought  necessary.  In  the  first  burst  of  indignation 
at  the  discovery  of  her  aunt's  treachery,  Laura  thought  of  retra- 
cing her  Heps  to  Norwood,  never  more  to  enter  tht-  presence  of 
her  unworthy  relation  ;  but,  resentment  cooling  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  benefits  she  owed  to  Lady  Pelham,  she  determined  on 
returning  to  Walbourne,  to  announce  in  person  her  refusal  to  go 
with  her  aunt ;  conceiving  this  to  be  jthe  most  respectful  way  of 
intimating  her  intentions. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  home  she  retired  to  her  chamber  with- 
out seeing  Lady  Pelham;  and  immediately  dispatched  the  follow- 
ing note  to  Mrs.  De  Courcy.  "  My  dear  Madam,  an  accident  has 
happened  which  determines  me  against  going  to  Derham  Green. 
Will  you  think  I  presume  too  soon  on  your  kind  invitation,  if  I  say 
that  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  at  breakfast  ?  Or  will  not  your  be- 
nevolence rather  acquire  a  new  motive  in  the  shelterless  conditio^ 
which  awaits  your  very  affectionate  L.  M  ?" 


87 

She  then  proceeded  to  make  arrangements  for  her  deparlurcy 
reflecting-,  with  tears,  on  the  hard  necessity  wliich  was  abeut  to 
set  her  at  variance  with  the  only  living-  relation  v.  lio  had  ever  ac- 
knowledged her  She  knew  that  Lady  Pelham  would  be  enraged 
at  the  frustration  of  a  scheme,  to  accomplish  which  she  had  stoop^ 
ed  to  such  artifice  ;  and  she  feared  that,  however  gentle  might  be 
the  terms  of  her  intended  refusal,  her  aunt  would  consider  it  as 
unpardonable  rebellion.  She  was,  however,  firmly  resolved  against 
compliance,  and  all  that  remained  was  to  use  the  least  irritating 
mode  of  denial. 

They  met  at  dinner.  Lady  Pelham  in  high  good  humour,  Laura 
grave  and  thoughtful.  Lady  Pelham  mentioned  her  journey  ; 
but,  dreading  to  rouse  her  aunt's  unwearied  powers  of  objurga- 
tion, Laura  kept  silence  ;  and  her  just  displeasure  rendering  her 
averse  to  Lady  Pelham's  company,  she  contrived  to  spend  the 
evening  chiefly  alone. 

As  the  supper  hour  approached,  Laura  began  to  tremble  for  the 
uilest  which  awaited  her.     She  felt  herself  more  than  half  in- 
clined to  withdraw  frorji  the  storm,  by  departing  witliout  warn- 
ing, and  leaving  Lady  Pelham  to  discover  the  reason  of  Iier  flight 
after  she  was  beyoml  the  reach  of  her  fury.     But  she  considered 

'  that  such  a  proceeding  must  imply  an  irreconcilable  breach  with 
one  to  whom  she    owed  great  and  substantial  obligations  ;  and 

^    would   carry  an   appearance  of  ingratitude  which  she  could  not 

•  bear  to  incur.  Summoning  her  courage,  therefore,  she  resolved 
to  brave  the  tempest.  She  determined,  that  whate%'er  provoca- 
tion she  might  endure,  she  would  oflTer  none  but  such  as  was 
unavoidable  ;  though,  at  the  same  time,  she  would  maintain  that 
spirit  which  she  had  always  found  the  most  effectual  check  to  her 
a\!nt's  violence. 

riic  supper  passed  in  quiet  ;  Laura  tinwilling  to  begin  the  at- 
l:  ck  ;  Lr.dy  Pelham  glorying  in  her  cKpected  success,     Herladv- 

r  ship  had  taken  her  candle,  and  was  about  to  retire,  before  Laura 
durst  venture  on  tiie  subject.    "  Good  night,  my  dear,*  said  Lady 

|L  Pelham.  *'l  fear,"  replied  Laura,  "I  may  rather  say  farwelf, 
since  it  will  be  so  long  ere  I  see  you  again.'*  "How  do  you 
mean  ?'*  inquired  Lody  Pelham.     *'  That  t  cannot  accompiiny  vou 

r  to  Mrs.  Bathurst's,'*  replied  Lnura  ;  felcliing,  at  the  close  of  her 

:-  speech,  a  breath  longer  than  the  speech  itself.  '•  You  won't  go  V 
exclaimed  Lady^  F*elham,  in  a  voice  of  angry  astonishment. 
'*  Since  it  is  your  wish  that  I  should,"  returned  Laiu'a,  meeklv, 
"  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  in  my  power."  "  And  pray  what  puts  it  out 
of  your  power  ?"  cried  Lady  Pelham,  wrath  working  in  her  coun- 
tenance.    "  I  cannot  go  where  I  am  to  meet  Colonel  Hargrave." 

.  For  a  moment  Lady  Pelham  looked  confounded,  but  presently  re- 
covering utterance,  she  began — "  So  !  this  is  your  Norwood  in- 
telligence; and  your  charming  Mrs.  De  Courcy — your  model  of 
perfection — sets  spies  upou  the  conduct  of  all  the  neic-hbour. 
hood  !" 


88 

Laura  reddened  at  this  vulgar  abuse  of  the  woman  on  eurlii 
whom  she  most  revered  ;  but  slic  had  set  a  guard  upon  her  tem- 
per, and  only  answered,  that  it  was  not  at  Norwood  slie  received 
her  inrunnation.  *•  A  fortunate,  I  should  rather  say,  a  providen- 
tial accident,"  said  she,  "disclosed  to  me  Uie  whole*' — the  word 
*  stratagem*  was  rising  to  her  lips,  but  she  exchanged  it  for  one 
less  oti'ensive. 

"  And  what  if  Colonel  Hargrave  is  to  be  there  ?*'  said  Lady 
Pelham,  her  choler  risir.g  as  her  confusion  subsided.  *' I  sup- 
pose, forsooth,  my  pretty  prudish  Miss  cannot  trust  herself  in 
ihe  house  with  a  man  !"  "Not  with  Colonel  Hargrave,  Madam," 
tiaid  Laura  coolly. 

l^dy  Pelham's  rage  was  now  strong  enough  to  burst  the  re- 
straints of  Laura  s  habitual  ascendency.  "  But  I  say  you  shall  go. 
Miss,"  cried  she  in  a  scream  that  mingled  the  fierceness  of  anger 
with  the  insolence  of  command.  "  Yes,  I  say  you  shall  go  ;  we 
shall  see  whether  1  am  always  to  truckle  to  a  babyfaced  chit,  a 
creature  that  might  have  died  in  a  workhouse  but  for  my  charity." 
"  Indeed,  Madam,"'  said  Laura,  *'  I  do  not  forget — I  never  shall 
forget — what  I  owe  you  ;  nor  that  when  I  was  shelterless  and  un- 
protected,  you  received  and  cherished  me."  *'  Then  show  that 
you  remember  it,  and  do  what  I  desire,"  returned  Lady  Pelham, 
softened  in  spite  of  herself,  by  the  resistless  sweetness  of  Laura's 
look  and  manner.  "  Do  not,  1  beseech  you.  Madam,*'  said  Laura, 
*'  insist  upon  this  proof  of  my  gratitude.  If  you  do,  I  can  only 
thank  you  for  your  past  kindness,  and  wish  that  it  had  been  in  my 
power  to  make  a  better  return."  "  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me  that 
you  will  not  go  ?"  cried  Lady  Pelham,  stamping  till  the  room 
shook.  *'  I  beg.  Madam,"  said  Laura  entreatingly,  "  1  beg  of  you 
)iot  to  command  what  I  shall  be  compelled  to  refuse  "  "  Refuse 
at  your  peril !"  shrieked  Lady  Pelham,  in  a  voice  scarce  articu- 
late with  passion,  and  grasping  Laura's  arm  in  the  convulsion  of 
her  rage. 

Laura  had  sometimes  been  the  witness,  but  seldom  the  object 
of  her  aunt's  transport  ;  and  while  Lady  Pelham  stood  eying  her 
v/ith  a  countenance  "  fierce  as  ten  furies,"  she,  conscious  with 
what  burning  shame  she  would  herself  have  shrunk  from  making 
such  an  exhibition,  sympathetically  averted  her  eyes  as  if  the  virago 
had  been  sensible  of  the  same  feeling.  "  I  say  refuse  at  your  peril  !'* 
cried  Lady  Pelham, — "  Why  don  t  you  speak  ?  obstinate"—"  Be- 
cause," answered  Laura  with  saintlike  meekness,  "  I  can  say  no- 
thing but  what  will  olfend  you — I  cannot  go  to  Mrs.  Bathurst's." 

Angry  opposition  Lady  Pelham  might  liave  retorted  with  some 
small  remains  of  self-possession,  but  the  serenity  of  Laura  exaspe- 
rating her  beyond  all  bounds,  she  was  so  far  transported  as  to  strike 
her  a  violent  blow.  Without  uttering  a  syllable,  Laura  took  her 
candle  and  quitted  the  room  ;  while  Lady  Pelham,  herself  confound- 
ed at  the  outrage  she  had  committed,  made  no  attempt  to  detain 


89 

Laura  retired  to  her  chamber,  and  sat  quietly  down  to  conskk-r 
the  state  of  lier  warfare,  which  she  determined  to  conclude  by  let- 
ter, without  exposing-  her  person  to  another  assault ;  but  in  a  few- 
minutes  she  was  stormed  in  her  citadel,  and  the  enemy  entered, 
conscious  of  mistake,  but  with  spirit  unbroken.  Lady  Pelham  had 
g-one  too  far  to  retract,  and  was  too  much  in  the  wrong  to  recant 
her  error ;  her  passion,  however,  had  somewhat  exhausted  itself  in 
the  intemperate  exercise  which  she  had  allowed  it ;  and  though  as 
unreasonable  as  ever,  she  was  less  outrageous.  Advancing  toward* 
Laura  with  an  air  intended  to  express  onended  majesty  (for  studi- 
ed dignity  is  generally  the  disguise  chosen  by  conscious  degrada- 
tion,),she  began,  **  Miss  Montreville,  do  you,  in  defiance  of  my  com- 
mands, adhere  to  your  resolution  of  not  visiting  Mrs.  Bathurst  ?*' 
"  Certainly,  Madam  ;"  replied  Laura,  provoked  that  Lady  Pelham 
should  expect  to  intimidate  her  by  a  blow  ;  "  I  have  seen  no  rea- 
son to  relinqtiish  it." — "  There  is  a  reason,  however,"  returned  La- 
dy Pelham,  elevating  her  chin,  curling  her  upper  lip,  and  giving 
Laura  the  side-glance  of  disdain,  *'  though  probably  it  is  too  late 
to  weigh  with  such  a  determined  lady,  and  that  is,  tliat  you  must 
either  prepare  to  attend  me  to-morrow,  or  return  to  that  beggary 
from  whicli  I  took  you,  and  never  more  enter  my  presence."  *•  Then^ 
Madam,"  said  Laura,  rising  with  her  native  mien  of  calm  command, 
**  we  must  part ;  for  I  cannot  go  to  Mrs.  Bathurst*s." 

Laura's  cool  resistance  of  a  tiireat  which  was  expected  to  be  all 
powerful,  discomposed  Lady  Pelliam's  heroics.  Her  eyes  flashing 
fire,  and  her  voice  sharpening  to  a  scream,  "  Perverse,  ungrateful 
wretch  !"  she  cried,  "  Get  out  of  my  sight — leave  my  house  this 
instant."  "  Certainly,  if  you  desire  it,  Madam,"  answered  Laura, 
with  unmoved  self-possession  ;  •*  but,  perhaps,  if  you  please,  I  had 
better  remain  here  till  morning  I  am  afraid  it  might  give  rise  to 
unpleasant  observations  if  it  were  known  that  I  left  your  house  at 
midnight." 

"  I  care  not  who  knows  it — T  would  have  the  world  see  what  a 
viper  I  have  fostered  in  my  bosom.  Begone,  and  never  let  me  see 
your  hypocritical  face  again." 

"  Then  1  hope,"  said  Laura,  "  your  ladyship  will  allow  a  servant 
to  accompanv  me  to  Norwood.  At  this  hour  it  would  be  improper 
for  me  to  go  alone."  "  Oh  to  be  sure,'*  cried  Lady  Pelham,  ♦'  do 
go  to  your  friend  and  favourite  and  make  your  complaint  of  all  your 
harsh  usage,  and  descant  at  large  upon  poor  Lady  Pelham's  un- 
luckly  failings.  No,  no,  I  promise  you,  no  servant  of  mine  shall 
be  sent  on  any  such  errand."  ♦*  There  is  fine  moonlight,"  said 
Laura  looking  calmly  from  the  window,  "  I  dare  say  I  shall  be 
safe  enough  alone."  "  You  shall  not  go  to  Norwood  !"  cried  Lady 
Pelham — •*  I'll  take  care  to  keep  you  from  that  prying  censorious 
old  hag.  You  two  shan't  be  allowed  to  sit  primming  up  your 
Xnnuths,  and  spitting  venom  on  all  the  neighbourhoofl  *'  Weary  of 
«uch  low  abuse,  Laura  took  her  bonnet,  and  was  leaving  the  room. 
Liid\  Pelham  placed  herself  between  her  and  the  door.  "  Where 
ai-e  you  going  ?"  she  demanded,  in  a  voice  in  which  rage  was  alit? 
H    2 


90 

tie  mingled  with  dread.  "  To  the  only  shelter  that  England  affords 
ine,"  returned  Laura  ;  **  to  the  only  friends  from  whom  death  or 
distance  does  not  sever  me."  "  I  shall  spoil  your  dish  of  scandal 
for  to-night,  however,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  flouncing  out  of  the 
room  ;  and,  slapping  the  door  with  a  force  that  made  the  windows 
rattle,  she  locked  it  on  the  outside.  Laura  making  no  attempt  to 
obtain  release,  quietly  sat  down  expecting  a  renewal  of  the  charge. 
Soon,  however,  all  the  household  seemed  still,  and  Laura  having 
mingled  with  the  prayer  that  commended  herself  to  the  care  of 
heaven,  a  supplication  for  pardon  and  amendment  to  her  aunt,  re- 
tired to  sound  and  refreshing  rest. 

On  quitting  Laura,  Lady  Pelham  went  to  bed,  pride  and  anger 
in  her  breast  fiercely  struggling  against  a  sense  of  blame.  But  the 
darkness,  the  silence,  tlie  loneliness  of  night  assuage  the  passions 
even  of  a  termagant ;  and  by  degrees  she  turned  Irom  re-acting 
and  excusing  her  conduct,  to  fretting  at  its  probable  consequences. 

The  courage  of  a  virago  is  no  more  than  the  daring  of  intoxica- 
tion. Wait  till  the  paroxysm  be  past,  and  the  timid  hare  is  not 
more  the  slave  of  fear.  Lady  Pelham  began  to  feel,  though  she 
would  scarcely  acknowledge  it  to  herself,  how  very  absurdly  her 
contest  would  figure  in  the  mouthi  of  the  gossips  round  Walbourne. 
If  her  niece  left  her  house  in  displeasure,  if  a  breach  were  known 
to  subsist  between  them,  was  it  not  most  likely  that  Laura  would 
in  her  own  defence  relate  the  treatment  to  which  she  had  been  sub- 
jected ?  At  all  events,  if  she  went  to  Norwood  before  a  reconcili- 
ation took  place,  she  would  certainly  explain  her  situation  to  ^f^s. 
Tie  Courcy  ;  and  Lady  Pelham  could  not  brave  the  contempt  of  the 
woman  whom  she  disliked  and  abused.  Anger  has  been  compared 
to  a  short  madness,  and  the  resemblance  holds  in  tliis  respect,  that 
in  both  cases,  a  little  terror  is  of  sovereign  use  in  restoring  quiet. 
Lady  Pelham  even  feared  the  calm  displeasure  of  Laura,  and 
shrunk  from  meeting  the  reproving  eye  of  even  the  dependent  girl 
whom  she  had  persecuted  and  re])roache.d  and  insulted.  By  de- 
grees, Laura's  habitual  ascendency  was  completely  restored,  per- 
iiaps  with  added  strength  for  its  momentary  suspension  ;  for  she 
had  rather  gained  in  respectability  by  patient  endurance,  wliile 
Lady  Pelham  was  somewhat  humbled  by  a  sense  of  misconduct. 
Besides,  in  the  course  of  eight  months  residence  under  her  roof, 
Laura  was  becomp  necessary  to  her  aunt.  Her  prudence,  her  gom^ 
temper,  her  various  domestic  talents,  were  ever  at  hand  to  supply 
the  capital  defects  of  Lady  Pelham's  character.  Lady  Pelham 
could  not  justly  be  said  to  love  any  mortal,  but  she  felt  the  advan- 
tages of  the  method  and  regularity  which  Laura  had  introduced 
into  her  family  ;  Laura's  beauty  gratified  her  vanity ;  Laura's  sweet- 
ness bore  with  her  caprice  ;  Laura's  talents  amused  her  solitude  ; 
and  she  made  as  near  an  approach  as  nature  would  permit  to  lov- 
ing Laura.  What  was  of  more  consequence,  Laura  was  popular 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  her  story  would  be  no  sooner  told  than  be- 
lieved ;  and  Ladv  Pelham's  lively  imagination  strongly  represented 


91 

to  her  the  aggravation,  commentary,  and  sarcasm,  with  which  such 
im  anecdote  would  be  circulated. 

But  though  these  ideas  floated  in  Lady  Pelham*s  mind,  let  it  not 
be  thought  that  she  once  supposed  ihem  to  be  the  motives  of  her 
determination  to  seek  a  reconcilement!  No  Lady  Pelham  had 
explained,  and  disguised,  and  adorned  her  failings,  till  she  had 
converted  tlie  natural  shame  of  confession  into  a  notion  that  a  can- 
did avowal  atoned  for  any  of  her  errors  ;  and  no  sooner  did  she  be- 
gin to  think  of  making  confessions  to  her  niece,  than  the  conscious- 
ness of  blame  was  lost  in  inward  applause  of  her  own  candour  und 
condescension.  An  obsei'ving  eye,  therefore,  would  have  seen 
more  of  conceit  than  of  humility  in  her  uir,  when  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  entered  Laura's  apartment  Laura  was  already  dressed, 
and  returned  her  aunt's  salutation  a  little  more  coldly  than  she 
Jiad  ever  formerly  done,  though  with  perfect  good  humour.  Lady 
Pelham  approached  and  took  her  hand  ;  Laura  did  not  withdraw 
it  "I  fear,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  •*  you  think  I  behaved  very  ab- 
iBurdly  last  night."  Laura  looked  down  and  said  nothing.  *'  I  am 
willing  to  own  I  was  to  blame,"  continued  her  ladyship,  '*  but  peo- 
ple of  strong  feelings,  you  know,  my  dear,  cannot  always  com- 
mand themselves."  Laura  was  still  silent.  "  We  must  forget  and 
forgive  the  failings  of  our  friends,"  proceeded  her  ladyship.  Laura, 
who  dreaded  that  these  overtures  of  peace  only  covered  a  project- 
ed attack,  still  stood  speechless.  "  Will  you  not  forgive  me,  Lau- 
ra ?"  said  Lady  Pelham  coaxingly,  her  desire  of  pardon  increasing, 
as  she  began  to  doubt  of  obtaining  it.  "  I  do,  Madam,"  said  Laura, 
cla.sping  Latly  Pelham's  hand  between  her  own.  "  I  do  from  my 
heart  forgive  all,  and  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  forget  all — all 
but  that  when  (  was  an  orphan,  alone  in  the  wide  world,  you  shel- 
tered and  protected  me."  "Thank  you,  my  dear  good  girl,*'  re- 
turned Lady  Pelham,  sealing  the  reconciliation  with  a  kiss.  "I 
knew  you  would  think  it  a  duty  to  excuse  an  error  arising  merely 
from  my  natural  warmth,  and  the  interest  I  take  in  you — *  A  bad 
eficct  from  a  noble  cause.'  It  is  a  melancholy  truth  that  those 
v/ho  have  the  advantages  of  a  feeling  heart,  must  share  its  weak- 
nesses too."  Laura  had  so  often  listened  to  similar  nonsene,  that 
it  had  ceased  to  provoke  a  smile.  "  Let  us  talk  of  this  no  more," 
said  she  ;  "  let  me  rather  try  to  persuade  you  not  only  to  excuse, 
but  to  sanction  the  obstinacy  that  offended  you  "  **  Ah  Laura," 
returned  Lady  Felham,  smiling,  **  I  must  not  call  you  obstinate, 
but  you  are  very  firm.  If  I  could  but  prevail  on  you  to  go  with  me 
only  for  a  day  or  two,  I  should  make  my  visit  as  short  as  you  please  ; 
for  now  it  has  been  all  arranged  I  must  go,  and  it  would  look  so 
awkward  to  go  without  you !"  "  If  the  length  of  your  visit  depend 
upon  me,"  answered  Laura,  waving  a  subject  on  which  she  deter- 
mined not  to  forfeit  her  character  for  firmness,  "  it  shall  be  short 
indeed,  for  I  shall  \o\  g  to  offer  some  reparation  for  all  my  late  per- 
verseness  and  disobedience  " 

At   another  time  Lady  Pelham's  temper  would  have  failed  her 
at  this  steady  opposition  to  her  will ;  but  fear  kept  her  in  check,- 


92 

After  a  few  very  gentle  expostulations,  she  g-ave  up  the  point,  and 
inquired  whether  her  niece  siill  intended  to  spend  the  time  of  her 
absence  at  Norwood.  Laura  answered  that  she  (hd  ;  and  had  pro- 
mised to  breakfast  there  that  morning  L^on  thi>  Lady  Pelham 
overwhelmed  her  with  such  caresses  and  endearments,  as  she  in- 
tended should  obliterate  the  remembrance  of  her  late  injurious  be- 
haviour. She  extolled  Laura's  prudence,  her  sweet  and  forgiving 
disposition,  her  commendable  reserve  with  strangers,  and  her  cau- 
tion in  speaking  of  herself  or  of  her  own  affairs.  Unfortunately 
for  the  effect  of  the  flattery,  Laura  recollected  that  some  of  these 
qualities  had  at  times  been  the  subject  of  Lady  Pelham's  severe 
reprehensions.  She  had,  besides,  sufficient  penetration  to  detect 
the  motive  of  her  Ladyship's  altered  language ;  and  she  strove  to  re- 
press a  feeling  of  contempt,  while  she  replied  to  her  aunt's 
thoughts  as  frankly  as  if  they  had  been  frankly  spoken  ;  assuring 
her  that  she  should  be  far  from  publishing  to  strangers  the  casual 
vexations  of  her  domestic  life.  Lady  Pelham  reddened,  as  her 
latent  thoughts  were  thus  seized  and  exposed  naked  to  her  view  ; 
but  fear  again  proved  victorious,  and  she  redoubled  her  blandish- 
ments. She  had  even  recourse  to  a  new  expedient,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  made  Latiraan  offer  of  money.  With  infinite 
difficulty  did  Laura  suppress  the  indignation  which  swelled  her 
breast.  She  h.id  forgiven  abuse  and  insult,  but  it  was  beyond  en- 
durance that  her  aunt  should  suppose  tliat  her  pardon  and  silence 
might  be  bottght.  llestraining  her  anger,  however,  she  positively 
refused  the  money  ;  and  bidding  Lady  Pelham  farewel,  departed, 
amidst  pressing  injunctions  to  remain  at  Norwood  no  longer  tlian 
till  her  aimt  returned  to  Wulbourne  ;  her  ladyship  protesting  that 
her  own  home  wotdd  not  be  endurable  for  an  hour  without  the 
company  of  her  dear  Laura 

Lady  Pelham  imwillingly  set  out  on  a  journey  of  which  the  first 
intention  had  been  totally  defeated ;  but  she  had  no  alternative, 
since,  besides  having  promised  to  visit  Mrs.  Bathurst,  she  had  made 
an  appointment  to  meet  Hargrave  at  the  stage  where  she  was  to 
stop  for  the  night,  and  it  was  now  too  late  to  give  him  warning  of 
his  disappointment.  Even  Hargrave's  politeness  was  no  match  for 
his  vexation,  when  he  saw  Lady  Pelham,  late  in  the  evening,  alight 
from  her  carriage  unaccompanied  by  Laura.  He  listened  with 
impatience  to  her  ladyship's  apology  and  confused  explanations  ; 
and  more  than  half  resolved  to  return  to to  carry  on  his  ope- 
rations there.  But  he  too  had  promised  to  Mrs.  Bathurst,  whom 
for  particular  reasons  he  wished  not  to  disoblige.  The  travellers, 
therefore,  next  day  pursued  their  journey  to  Derham  Green,  be- 
guiling the  way  by  joint  contrivances  to  conquer  the  stubbornness 
of  Laura. 


93 


CHAPTER  XX VII. 

Lauti  A  had  proceeded  but  a  short  way  towar(;ls  Korvrood  when 
she  was  met  by  De  Courcy,  who,  with  a  manner  the  most  opposite 
to  his  coldness  oi»  the  preceding  day,  sprang  forward  to  meet  her, 
his  countenance  radiant  with  pleasure.  Laura,  delighted  with  the 
change,  playfully  reproached  him  with  his  caprice  Montague 
coloured,  but  defended  himself  with  spirit;  and  a  dialogue,  more 
resembling  flirtation  than  any  in  which  Laura  had  ever  engaged, 
occupied  them  till,  as  they  loitered  along  the  dark  avenue  of  Nor- 
wood, a  shade  of  the  sentimental  begun  to  mingle  with  their  conver- 
sation. De  Courcy  had  that  morning  resolved,  firmly  resolved,  that 
while  Laura  was  his  guest  at  Norwood,  he  would  avoid  a  declaration 
of  his  sentiments.  Convinced,  as  he  now  was,  that  he  had  no  longer 
any  thing  to  fear  from  the  perseverance  of  llargrave,  he  was  yet 
far  from  being  confident  of  his  own  success.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  persuaded  that  he  had  hitherto  awakened  in  Laura  no  senti- 
ment beyond  friendship,  and  that  she  must  become  accustomed  to 
him  as  a  lover,  before  he  could  hope  for  any  farther  grace.  He 
considered  how  embarrassing  would  be  her  situation  in  a  iiouse  of 
which  the  master  was  a  repulsed,  perhaps  a  rejected,  admirer; 
and  he  had  determined  not  to  hazard  embittering  to  her  a  residence 
from  which  she  had  at  present  no  retreat  Yet  the  confiding  man- 
ner, the  bewitching  loveliness  of  Laura,  the  stillness,  shade,  and 
solitude  of  their  path,  had  half  beguiled  him  of  his  prudence,  when, 
fortunately  for  his  resolution,  he  saw  Harriet  advancing  to  meet 
her  friend.  Harriet's  liveliness  soon  restored  gaiety  to  the  con- 
versation ;  and  the  party  proceeded  less  leisurely  than  before  to 
Norwood,  where  Laura  was  received  with  aiFectionate  cordiality 
by  Mrs   De  Courcy. 

Never  had  the  time  appeared  to  Laura  to  fly  so  swiftly  as  now. 
Every  hour  was  sacred  to  improvement,  to  elegance,  or  to  bene- 
volence. Laura  had  a  mind  capable  of  intense  application  ;  and 
therefore  could  exalt  relaxation  into  positive  enjoyment.  But  the 
p'easure  which  a  vigorous  understanding  takes  in  the  exercise  of 
il>  powers,  was  now  heightened  in  her  hours  of  study,  by  the  as- 
sistance, the  approbation  of  i)e  Courcy  ;  and  the  hours  of  relaxa- 
tion he  enlivened  by  a  manner  which,  at  once  frank  and  respect- 
ful, spirited  and  kind,  seemed  peculiarly  fitted  to  adorn  the  do- 
mestic circle.  A  part  of  every  day  was  employed  by  Mrs.  De 
Courcy  in  various  works  of  charity  ;  and,  joining  in  thesf,  Laura 
returned  with  satisfaction  to  a  habit  which  she  h:^.d  unwillingly 
laid  aside  during  her  residence  in  London,  and  but  imperfectly  re- 
sumed at  Walbourne.  Amiable,  rational,  and  pious,  the  family  at 
Norwood  realized  all  Laura's  day-dreams  of  social  happiness  ;  and 
the  only  painful  feeling  that  assaded  her  mind  arose  from  the  re- 
collection that  the  time  of  her  visit  was  fast  stealing  away.  Her 
visit  \^as,  however,  prolonged  by  a  fortunate  cold  which  detained 
Lady  Pelham  at  Derham  Green  ;  and  Laura  could  not  regret  an 


94 

accident  which  delayed  her  separation  from  her  friends.  Indeed 
she  began  to  dread  Lady  Pelham's  return,  both  as  the  signal  of 
her  departure  from  Norwood,  and  as  a  prelude  to  the  renewal  of 
her  persecutions  on  account  of  Hargrave.  Far  from  having,  as 
Lady  Pelham  had  insinuated,  renounced  his  pursuit,  he  returned 
in  a  few  days  from  Mrs.  Bathurst's ;  again  established  himself 
with  Lambert;  and,  though  he  could  not  uninvited  intrude  him- 
self into  Norwood,  contrived  to  beset  Laura  as  often  as  she  passed 
its  bounds.  In  the  few  visits  which  she  paid,  she  generally  encoun- 
tered him  ,  and  he  regularly  waylaid  her  at  church.  But  he  had 
lost  an  able  coadjutor  in  Lady  Pelham ;  and  now,  when  no  one 
present  was  concerned  to  assist  his  designs,  and  when  Laura  was 
protected  by  kind  and  considerate  friends,  she  generally  found 
means  to  escape  his  officious  attentions ;  though,  remembering 
his  former  jealousy  of  Montague,  and  the  irritability  of  his  tem- 
per, she  was  scrupulously  cautious  of  marking  her  preference  of 
De  Courcy,  or  of  appearing  to  take  sanctuary  with  him  from  the 
assiduities  of  Ilargrave.  Indeed,  notwithstanding  the  mildness  of 
l)e  Courcy's  disposition,  she  was  not  without  fear  that  he  might  be 
involved  in  a  quarrel  by  the  unreasonable  suspicions  of  Hargrave, 
who  had  often  taxed  her  with  receiving  his  addresses,  ascribing 
his  own  failure  to  their  success.  She  had  in  vain  condescended  to 
assure  him  that  the  charge  was  groundless.  He  never  met  De 
Courcy  without  shewing  evident  marks  of  dislike.  If  he  accosted 
him,  it  was  in  a  tone  and  manner  approaching  to  insult.  The  most 
trivial  sentence  which  De  Courcy  addressed  to  Laura,  drew  from 
Hargrave  looks  of  enmity  and  defiance;  while  Montague,  on  his 
part,  retui-ned  these  aggressions  by  a  cool  disdain,  the  most  oppo- 
site to  the  conciliating  frankness  of  his  general  manners.  Latira's 
alarm  lest  Hargrave's  ill-concealed  aversion  should  burst  into 
open  outrage,  completed  the  dread  with  which  he  inspived  her; 
and  she  felt  like  one  subjected  to  the  thraldom  of  an  evil  genius, 
when  lie  one  day  announced  to  her  that  he  had  procured  leave  to 

remove  his  regiment  to ,  in  order,  as  he  said,  "that  he  might 

be  at  hand  to  assort  his  rights  over  her." 

He  conveyed  this  information  as,  rudely  preventing  Mr.  Boling- 
broke  and  be  Courcj^  he  led  her  from  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  carriage 
into  church.  Laura  durst  not  challenge  his  presumptuovs  exprcs- 
sion,  for  Montague  was  close  by  her  side,  and  she  dreaded  that  his 
aversion  to  arrog'ance  and  oppression  should  induce  liini  to  engage 
in  her  quarrel.  '  Silently  therefore,  though  glowing  with  resent- 
ment, she  suffered  Hargrave  to  retain  the  place  he  had  usurped, 
while  Montague  followed,  with  a  countenance  which  a  few  short 
moments  had  clotided  with  sudden  care.  '*  \h,"  thought  he, 
"  those  rights  must  indeed  be  strong  which  he  dares  thus  boldly, 
thus  publicly  assert."  It  was  some  time  ere  the  service  began, 
and  Laura  could  not  help  casting  glances  of  kind  Inquiry  on  the 
saddened  face,  which,  a  few  minutes  before,  she  had  seen  bright 
with  animation  and  delight.  Hargrave's  eyes  followed  hers  with 
a  far  different  expression.     While  she  observed  him  darting  a 


95 

scowl  of  malice  and  aversion  on  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  life, 
Laura  shuddered  ;  and  wondering'  at  the  infatuation  which  had  so 
long'  disguised  his  true  cliaracter,  bent  her  head,  acknowledged 
her  short-sightedness,  and  resigned  the  future  events  of  her  life  to 
the  disposal  of  heaven.  It  was  the  day  immediately  preceding 
Harriet's  marriage,  and  neither  she  nor  Mrs.  De  Courcy  was  in 
church;  Laura  therefore  returned  home  tete-a.  ete  with  Mon- 
tague. Ignorant  that  Hargrave's  provoking  half  whisper  had  been 
overheard  by  De  Courcy,  she  could  not  account  for  the  sudden 
change  in  his  countenance  and  manner;  yet  though  she  took  an 
affectionate  interest  in  his  melancholy,  they  had  almost  reached 
home  before  she  summoned  courage  to  inquire  into  its  cause.  "  I 
fear  you  are  indisposed."  said  she  to  him  in  a  voice  of  kind  con- 
cern. De  Courcy  thanked  her.  "  No,  not  indisposed."  said  he, 
with  a  famt  smile.  "Disturbed,  then,"  said  Laura.  De  Courcy 
was  silent  for  amoment,  and  then  taking  her  hand,  said,  "  Mciv  I 
be  candid  with  you  ?"  "  Surely,"  returned  Laura.  **  I  trust  I  sludl 
ever  meet  with  candour  in  you.'*  "  Then  I  will  own,"  resumed 
De  Courcy,  *'  that  I  am  disturbed.  And  can  the  friend  of  Montrc- 
ville  be  otherwise  when  he  hears  a  right  claimed  over  you  by  one 
so  wholly  unworthy  of  you  ?'*  "  Ah,"  cried  Lau.  a,  "  you  have  then 
heard  all.  I  hoped  you  had  not  attended  to  him."  *'  Attended  !'* 
exclaimed  De  Courcy,  **  Could  any  right  be  claimed  over  you  and 
I  be  regardless  ?''  **  It  were  ungrateful  to  doubt  your  friendly  in- 
terest in  me,"  replied  Laura,  "  Believe  me.  Colonel  Hargrave  has 
no  right  o\er  me,  nor  ever  shall  have."  "  Yet  I  did  not  hear  you 
resist  the  claim,"  returned  De  Courcy.  *'  Because,"  answered 
Laura,  "  I  feared  to  draw  your  attention.  IJ  is  violence  teinfies 
me,  and  I  feared  that — that  you  might" — She  hesitated,  stopped, 
and  blushed  very  deeply  She  felt  the  awkwardness  of  appearing 
to  expect  that  De  Courcy  should  engage  in  a  qunrrel  on  her  ac- 
count, but  the  simple  truth  ever  rose  so  naturally  to  her  lips,  that 
she  could  not  even  qualify  it  without  confusi  .n  **  Might  what  ?" 
cried  De  Courcy  eagerly ;  "Speak  frankly,  I  beseech  you."  **I 
feared."  replied  Laura,  recovering  heiself,  "  that  the  interest  you 
take  in  the  daugliter  of  your  friend  might  expose  you  to  the  rude- 
ness of  this  overbearing  man."  *•  And  did  you  upon  my  accotmt, 
dearest  Laura,  submit  to  this  insolence  ?"  cried  De  Courcy,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  exultation.  "  Is  my  honour,  my  safety  then 
dear  to  you  ?  Could  you  think  of  me  even  while  Hargrave  spoke  ?'* 
With  surprise  and  displeasure  Laura  read  the  triumphant  glance 
which  accompanied  his  woi-ds.  ••  Is  it  possible,"  thought  &lie, 
**ihat,  well  as  he  knows  me,  he  can  thus  mistake  the  nature  of  my 
regard?  or  can  ':e,  attached  to  another,  find  jjleasui'e  in  the  idle 
dream  ?  Oli  m;\n,  tliou  art  altogether  vanity  ?"  Snatching  away 
the  hand  which  he  wa.^  pressing  to  his  lips,  she  coldly  replied,  "  I 
should  have  be«n  equa'ly  atteutive  to  tlie  safety  of  any  common 
stranger  had  I  expected  his  interference  ;  and  Colonel  Hargrave's 
speeches  canr.ot  divert  my  attention  even  from- the  niost  trivial 
o^'ief't  in  nature."    Poor  De  Courcy,  his  towering  hopes  suddenly 


96 

levelled  with  the  dust,  shrunk  from  tiie  frozen  steadiness  of  her 
eye.  "  Pardon  me,  Misb  Mon\reville,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  min- 
gled sorrow  and  reproach,  "pardon  me  for  tlie  hope,t^at  you 
would  make  any  distinction  between  me  and  the  most  i^ififercnt. 
I  shall  soon  be  cured  of  my  presumption."  Grieved  at  the -pain 
she  saw  she  had  occasioned,  Laura  would  fain  have  said  some- 
thing to  mitigate  the  repulse  which  she  had  given  :  hut  a  new  light 
began  to  dawn  upon  her,  and  she  feared  to  conciliate  the  friend 
leal  siie  should  encourage  the  lover.  Fortunately  for  the  relief  of 
her  embarrassment  the  carriage  stopped.  De  iJourcy  giavely  and 
in  silence  handed  her  from  it ;  and,  hurry ii:g  to  her  chamber,  she 
sat  down  to  reconsider  the  dialogue  she  had  just  ended. 

De  Courcy's  manner  more  than  his  words  recalled  a  suspicion 
which  she  had  oftener  than  once  driven  from  her  mind.  Slie  was 
impressed,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  with  a  conviction  that  she 
was  beloved.  For  some  moments  this  idea  aione  filled  her 
thoughts  ;  the  next  that  succeeded  was  recollection  that  she  ought 
sincerely  to  lament  a  passion  which  she  couid  not  return.  It  was 
her  duty  to  be  sorry,  very  sorry  indeed,  for  such  an  accident;  to 
be  otherwise  would  have  argued  the  most  selfish  vanity,  the  most 
hard-hearted  ingratitude  towards  tiie  best  of  friends,  and  the  most 
amiable  of  mankind.  Yet  she  was  not  rery  sorry ;  it  was  out  of 
her  power  to  convince  herself  that  she  was;  so  she  imputed  her 
pliilosophy  under  her  misfortune  to  doubtfulness  (;f  its  existence. 
«•  But  after  all,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  his  words  could  not  bear 
such  a  construction  ;  and  for  his  manner — who  would  build  any 
thing  upon  a  manner  ?  While  a  woman's  vanity  is  so  apt  to  de- 
ceive her,  what  rational  creature  would  give  credit  to  what  may 
owe  so  much  to  her  own  imagination  !  Besides,  did  not  Mrs.  De 
Courcy  more  than  hint  that  his  affections  were  engaged  ?  Did  he 
not  e\en  himself  confess  to  me  that  they  were  ?  And  I  taxed  him 
with  vanity  ! — Truly,  if  he  could  see  this  ridiculous  freak  of  mine 
he  might  very  justly  retort  the  charge.  Avid  see  it  iie  will.  What 
could  possess  me  with  my  absurd  prudery  to  take  oflfence  at  his 
expecting  that  I,  who  owe  him  ten  thousand  kind  offices,  should 
be  anxious  for  his  safety?  How  could  1  be  so  false,  so  thankless 
as  to  say  I  considered  him  as  a  common  acquaintance  ? — The  friend 
of  my  fatlier,  my  departed  father  !  ihe  friend  who  supported  him 
in  want,  and  consoled  him  in  sorrow  !  No  wonder  that  he  seemed 
shocked !  What  is  so  painful  to  a  noble  heart  as  to  meet  with  in- 
gratitude? But  he  shall  never  again  have  reason  to  think  me  vain 
or  ungrateful;"  and  Laura  hastened  down  stairs  that  she  might 
lose  no  time  in  convincing  De  Courcy  that  Sf.e  did  not  suspect  him 
of  being  her  lover,  and  highly  valued  him  as  a  friend  Slie  found 
him  in  the  drawing-room,  pensively  resting  his  forehead  against 
the  window  sash  ;  and  approaching  him,  spoke  scnne  trifle  with  a 
smile  so  winning,  so  gracious,  tliat  De  Courcy  soon  forgot  both 
bjs  wishes  and  his  fears,  enjoyed  the  present,  and  was  happy. 

The  day  of  Harriet's  marriage  arrived;  and  for  once  she  was 
grave  and  silept.     She  even  forgot  her  bridal  finery ;  and  v/hen 


97 

I^aura  went  lo  infonn  her  of  Mp.,Bplingbroke*s  arrival,  she  foun.l 
her  ill  the  libraiy,  sitting  on  the  ground  in  tfears,  her  liead  resting- 
on  the  seat  of  an  old-fasliioned  elbow-chair.  She  sprang-  up  as 
^  Laura  entered ;  and  dashing-  the  drops  from  her  eyes,  cried,  *'  I 
"  have  been  trying  to  grow  young"  again  for  a  few  minutes,  before  I 
am  made  ah  old  woman  for  life.'  Just  there  I  used  to  sit  when  I 
was  a  little  tiling,  and  laid  my  head  upon  my  father's  knee  ;  for 
this  was  his  favourite  clifir,  and  there  old  Jiover  and  I  used  to  lie 
at  his  feet  together.  I'll  beg  this  chair  of  my  mother,  for  now  I 
love  every  thing  at  Norwood."  Laura  drew  her  away,  and  she  for- 
got the  old  elbow-chair  when  she  saw  the  siiperb  diamonds  which 
were  lying  on  her  dressing-table.  The  ceremonMil  of  the  wedding- 
were  altogether  adjusted  by  Mrs.  Penelope  ;  arfd  thoiig^Ii,  in  com- 
pliance with  Mr.  Bolingbroke's  whnns,  she  suffered  the  ceremony 
to  be  privately  performed,  she  invited  every  creature  ulio  could 
claim  kindred  with  the  names  of  Bollngbroke  or  De  Courcy  to 
meet  and  welcome  the  young  bride  to  her  home.  Mr.  Bolingbroke 
hs^ving brought  a  licence,  the  pair  were  united  at  Xorwood.  Mr. 
AVentworth  officiated,  and  De  Courcy  gave  his  sister  away.  Mrs. 
Bolingbroke's  own  new  barouche,  so  often  beheld  in  fancy,  now 
really  waited  to  convey  her  to  her  future  dwelling;  but  she  turned 
to  bid  farewell  to  the  domestics  who  had  attended  her  mfancy,  and 
forgot  to  look  at  the  new  barouche. 

Mr.  Bolingbroke  was  a  great  man,  and  could  not  be  allowed  to 
marry  quietl}-.  Bonfires  were  lighted,  bells  were  rung,  and  a  cor.- 
course  of  his  tenantry  accompanied  the  carriages  which  conveyed 
the  party.  The  admiration  of  the  company  whom  Mrs.  Penelope 
had  assembled  in  honour  of  the  day,  was  divided  between  Mrs. 
Bolingbroke's  diamonds  and  her  bride-maid;  and  as  the  number 
of  each  sex  was  pretty  equal,  the  wonders  shared  pretty  equally. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  lovely  as  Miss  Monti'cville;" 
said  Sophia  Bolingbroke,  to  the  }  oung  lady  who  sat  next  to  h.er. 
"  I  never  can  think  any  body  pretty  who  has  red  hair,"  was  the  rc- 
ph'.  '*  If  her  hair  be  red,"  returned  Sophia,  *'  it  is  the  most  pui- 
donable  red  hair  in  the  world,  for  it  is  more  nearly  black.  Don't 
you  admire  her  figure  ?'*  "  Not  particularly ;  she  is  too  much  of 
'the  May -pole  for  mc;  besides,  who  can  tell  wiiat  her  figure  is 
v/hen  she  is  so  muflled  up.  I  dare  lay  she  is  stufled,  or  she  would 
show  a  littl(«  more  of  her  skin."  "  She  has  at  least  an  excellent 
taste  in  stuffing,  then,"  said  Sophia,  "  for  I  never  saw  any  ibin.^* 
so  elegantly  formed."  -.  "  It  is  easy  to  see,"  said  the  critic,  *'  th.a 
she  thinks  herself  a  beauty  hy  her  dressing  so  affectedly.  To-nighu 
when  every  body  else  is  in  full  dress,  do  but  look  at  hers  !"  "  Pure, 
unadorned,  virgin  white,"  said  Miss  Bolingbroke,  looking  at  Luu- 
ra;  "  the  proper  attire  o%angels !"  Tlie  name  of  Miss  Montre- 
Ville  had  drawn  the  attention  of  De  Courcy  to  this  dtalog-ue.  "  £ 
protest,"  cried  he  to  Mr.  WentwQi-th,  who  stood  by  him,  *'  Sophv 
Bolingbroke  is  the  most  agreeable  plain  girl  lever  saw."  He  theii 
placed  liimsclf  by  her  side;  and  wiiile  she  continued  to  praise 
Laura,  g^ave  her  credit  for  all  that  is  most  amiable  in  woman. 

I 


98 

Tiie  moment  he  left  her  she  ran  to  rally  Laura  upon  her  con- 
quest. *•  I  g-iveyoU  joy,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "^De  Courcy  is  cer- 
tainly in  love  with  you,'*  "Nonsense,"  cried  Laura,  colouring 
crimson,  "  what  can  make  you  think  so  ?'*  "  Why  he  will  talk  of 
notJiing  but  ypu,  and  he  looked  so  delig^hted  when  I  praised  you  ; 
:iiul  paid  me  more  compliments  hi  half  an  hour,  than  ever  I  re- 
ceived in  my  whole  life  before."  **  If  he  was  so  compUmentary," 
said  Laura,  smiling-,  "  it  seems  more  likely  that  he  is  in  love  with 
you."  "  Ah,"  said  Sophia,  sig-hin^,  "  that  is  hot  very  probable." 
"  Full  as  probable  as  the  other,"  answered  Laura,  and  turned 

.vay  to  ai 
thoughts. 

During"  the  few  days  whicK  Laura  and  the  De  Courcys  spent 
with  the  newly-married  pair.  Miss  lloling-broke's  observations 
served  to  confirm  her  opinion  ;  and  merely  for  the  pleasure  of 
speaking  of  'Montague,  she  rallied  Laura  incessantly  on  her  lover. 
In  weighing-  credibilities,  small  weight  of  testimony  turns  the 
scale  ;  and  Laura  began  alternately  to  wonder  what  retarded  De 
Courcy's  declaration,  and  to  tax  Jierself  with  vanity  in  expecting 
1  hat  he  would  ever  make  one.  She  disliked  her  stay  at  Orford- 
l^all,  and  counted  the  hours  till  her  return  to  Norwood.  De 
Courcy's  attentions  she  had  long  placed  to  the  account  of  a  re- 
gard whicli,  while  slie  was  permitted  to  give  it  the  nameof  friend- 
sliip,  she  could  frankly  own  that  she  valued  above  any  earUily 
possession.  These  attentions  were  now  so  familiar  to  her,  that 
they  were  become  almost  necessary,  and  she  was  vexed  at  being 
constantly  reminded  that  she  ought  to  reject  them.  She  had 
therefore  a  latent  wish  to  return  to  a  place  where  she  would  have 
a  legitimate  claim  to  his  kindness,  and  where  at  least  there  would 
be  no  one  to  remind  lier  that  she  ouglit  to  shrink  from  it.  Be- 
sides, she  was  weary  of  the  state  and  magnificence  that  surround- 
ed her.  While  Harriet  glided  into  the  use  of  her  finery  as  if  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  it  from  her  cradle,  Laura  could  by  no 
means  be  reconciled  to  it.  She  endiired  with  impatience  a  meal 
of  three  hours  long  ;  could  not  cat  while  six  footmen  were  staring^ 
at  her;  started,  if  she  thoughtlessly  leant  iier  head  against the^ 
white  damask  wall  ;  and  couKl»not  move  with  ease,  where  cv^rf 
gesture  was  repeated  in  endless  looking-glasses-.  With  pleasure, 
therefore,  she  saw  the  day  arrive  which  was  to  restore  her  to  easy 
hospitality,  and  respectable  simplicity  at  Norwood  ;  but  that 
very  day  she  received  a  summons  to;  attend  her  aunt  at  Wal- 
bourne. 

Unwilling  as  laura  was  to  quit  her  friends,  she  did  not  delay 
to  comply  with  Ladv  I'elham's  requisition.  Mrs.  De  Com  cy  judg- 
ed  it  improper  to  urge  her  to  stay  ;  and*Monlague  m  j>art  conso- 
led  himself  for  her  departure,  by  reflecting,  that  he  would  now  oe 
at  liberty  to  disclose  his  long-concealed  secret.  "  No  doubt  vou 
are  at  liberty,"  said  Mrs.  De  Coiircv,  when  he  spoke  to  her  o.  his 
intentions,  "  and  I  am  fixr  from  pretending  to  advise  and  mterfere. 
Rut,  my  dear  Montague,  you  iwnst,  neither  be  surprised,  nor  m 


99 

Jcspair,  If  you  be  af  first  imsuccessful.  Though  Laui  a  c; .- >  ;;  s 
you,  piM-iiaps  more  than  esteems  you,  she  is  convinced  that  slic  is 
invuhierahle  to  love  ;  and  it  may  be  so,  but  her  fancied  security  is 
all  in  your  fa^  our."  Weary  of  suspense,  however,  De  Courcy  of- 
ten resolved  to  know  his  fate  i  s^vl  often  went  to  \V^aIbourne,  de- 
termined to  learn  ere  he  retvii*ned»  whether  a  circle  of  pU  asint; 
duties  was  to  fill  his  after  life,  of  whether  it  was  to  be  spent  alone, 
"  loveless,  joyless,  imendeared  ;'*  but  when  lie  met  the  friendly 
siuileof  Laura,  :aid  remembered  that,  his  secret  told,  it  mit^lit 
\  anish  like  gleamincr  of  a  wintry  sun,  his  coAirapfc  fiiilud,  and  tlui 
iiitendc'd  disclosure  was  again  delayed.  Yet  his  manner  grew 
less  and  Ices"  equivocal,  and  Laiu'a,  imwilllng  jfl^hc  was  to  own 
the  conviction  to  herself,  could  scarcely  raaihtaiu  her  wilful 
blindness. 

She  allowed  the  subject  to  occupy  the  more  of  her  thought?., 
because  it  came  disguised  in  a  veil  of  self-condemnation  and  hu- 
mility. Sometimes  she  repeated  to  licrself,  that  she  should  nevci- 
have  known  the  vanity  of  her  own  heart,  h.ad  it  not  been  visited  by 
so  absurd  a  suspicion  ;  and  sometimes  that  she  should  never  ha',  e 
been  acquainted  with  its  selfishness  and  obduracy,  had  she  not 
borne  with  such  indifference,  tj)^  thoughts  of  what  must  brin^- 
pain  and  disappointment  to  so  worthy  a  breast.  But,  s]>ite  cf 
Laura's  efforts  to  be  miserable,  the  subject  cost  her  much  more 
perplexity  than  disti-ess  ;  and,  in  wondering  whether  De  Courcy 
really  were  her  lover,  and  what  could  be  his  motive  for  concealing* 
it  if  he  were,  she  ofLea  forgot  to  deplore  the  consequences  of  her 
charms. 

Meanwhile  Ifargrave  continued  his  importunities  ;  and  Ladv 
Pelham  seconded  them  wilhumveai-ied^persevcrance.  In  vain  did 
X-aura  protest  that  her  indifference"  was  unconquerable  ;  in  vain 
assure  him  that  though  atotal  revolution  inhis  character  mipht 
regain  her  esteem,  her  affection  was  irrecoverably  lost.  She 
could  at  .iny  time  exasperate  the  proud  spirit  of  Ilargrave,  till  in 
transports  of  fury  he  would  abjure  her  for  ever  ;  but  a  few  Itours 
always  brought  ihe  "for  ever"  to  an  end,  and  Ilargrave  back,  to 
F  ipplicate,  to  importune,  and  not  unfrequently  to  threaten, 
l  hough  her  unremitting  coldness,  however,  failed  to  conquer  his 
passion,  it  by  degrees  extinguishe^all  of  generous  or  kindly  that 
had  ever  mingled  with  the  flame  ;  and  the  wild  unholy  fire  which 
her  beauty  kept  alive,  was  blended  with  the  heart-burnings  of  an- 
ger and  revenge.  From  such  a  passion  Laura  shrunk  with  dread 
and  horror.  She  heard  its 'expressions  as  superstition  listens  to 
sounds  of  evil  omen  ;  and  saw  his  impassioned  glances  with  the 
dread  of  one  wlio  meets  the  eye  of  the  crouching  tiger.  His  in- 
creasing jealousy  of  De  Courcy,  which  testified  itself  in  haughti- 
ness,  and  even  ferocity  of  behaviour  towards  him,  and  Montague's 
determined  though  cool  resistance  of  his  insolence,  kept  her  in 
continual  alarm.  Though  she  never  on  any  other  occasion  volun- 
tardy  entered  Hargrave's  presence,  yet  if  De  Courcv  found  him  at 
S.  albourae,  she  would  hasten  to  join  them,  fearing  the  conscquen- 


100 

CCS  of  a  private  Interview  between  two  such  hostile  spirits  ;  ami 
this  apparent  preference  not  only  ag-gravated  the  jealousy  of  Har- 
gi*ave,  but  roused  Lady  Pelham's  indefatig'able  spirit  of  remon- 
strance The  subject  was  particularly  suited  for  an  episode  to 
her  ladyship's  harangues  in  favour  of  Hargrave  ;  and  she  intro- 
duced and  varied  it  with  a  dexterity  all  her  own.  She  taxed  Lau- 
ra with  a  passion  for  De  Courcy  ;  and  in  terms  not  eminently  deli- 
<  ate,  reproached  her  with  facility  in  transferring-  her  regards. 
While  the  charg-e  was  privately  made,  it  appeared  to  Laura  too 
g"roundlcss  to  aficct  her  temper.  But  Lady  Pelh^m,  whose  whole 
life  mig-ht  be  saicjt.to  form  one  grand  ejcperiment  upon  thg  powers 
of  provocation,  took  occasion  to  rally  her  upon  it  before  some  of 
her  companions  ;  hinting  not  obscurely  at  the  secret  which  Laura 
liud  so  religiously  kept,  and  confessed  with  so  much  pain.  The 
attempt  was  partly  successful,  for  Laura  was  really  angry  ;  but 
she  commanded  herself  so  far  as  to  parry  the  attack,  secretly  ypw-^ 
ing  that  her  candour  should  never  again  commit  her  to  the  difiprc- 
lion  of  Lady  Pelham. 

Sometimes  assuming  the  tone  of  a  tender  monitress.  Lady  Pel- 
ham  would  affect  to  be  seriously  convinced  that  her  niece  enter- 
tained a  passion  for  De  Courcy,  and  treating  all  Laura's  denials  as 
ilie  effect  of  maiden  timidit}'-,  would  pretend  to  sympathize  in 
lier  sufferings,  advising  her  to  use  her  native  strength  of  mind  to 
conquer  this  unfortunate  partiality  ;  to  transfer  her  affections  from 
one  to  whom  they  appeared  valueless  to  him  who  sued  for  them 
with  such  interesting  perseverance.  Above  all,  she  entreated  her 
to  avoid  the  appearance  of  making  advances  to  a  man  who  proba- 
bly never  bestowed  a  thouglU  on  her  in  retum  ;  thus  intimating 
that  Laura's  behaviour  might  bear  so  provoking  a  construct io.n, 
Laura,  sometimes  irritated,  oftener  amused  by  these  impei  tinen- 
r.es,  could  iiave  endured  them  with  tolerable'patience  ;  but  they 
were  mere  interludes  to  Lady  Pelham's  indefi\tigable  chidings  on 
the  subject  of  Hargrave.  Tliese  were  continued  with  a  zeal  and 
industry  worthy  of  better  success.  And  yet  they  could  not  be 
said  to  be  wholly  unsuccessful,  while,  though  they  could  not  per- 
suade, tliov  could  torment.  In  vain  did  Laura  recount  the  rea- 
sons v/liich,  even  amidst  the  utmost  strength  of  inclination,  would 
})ave  deterred  her  from  a  connexion  with  a  person  of  Hargrave's 
eharactcr.  To  reason  with  Lady  Pelham  was  a  laboiu*  at  once 
severe  and  unavailing.  She  was  so  dexterous  in  the  use  of  inde- 
fmite  -anguage,  so  practised  in  every  art  of  shift  and  evasion,  that 
the  strongest  argument  failed  to  conquer  her  ;  or  if  forced  from 
her  ground,  she  on  the  next  occasion  occupied  it  again,  just  as  if 
she  had  always  maintained  it  undisputed.  Remonstrance  and  en- 
treaty were  not  more  successful.  In  defiance  of  both ,  Lady  Pel- 
ham continued  to  ring  endless  changes  on  the  same  endless  theme, 
till  Laura's  patience  would  have  failed  her,  had  she  not  been  con^ 
soled  by  reflecting  that  the  time  now  drevv  jiear  when  the  payment 
of  her  annuity  would  enable  her  to  escape  from  her  unwearied 
persecutors.  '  She  heartily  wished,  however,  that  a  change  of  sys- 


101 

tern  ml^ht  make  her.reaidence  with  Lady  Pelham  endurable  ;  tc: 
strong-  as  was  her  attachment  to  Mrs.  Doug-las,  it  was  no  lon^^cr 
her  only  friendship  ;  and  she  could  not  wilhovit  pain  think  of  quit- 
ting-, perhaps  for  ever,  her  valued  fiien.ls  at  Norwood. 

^V  inter  advanced  ;  Lady  Pelham  began  to  talk  of  her  removal 
to  town  ;  and  I>aura  was  not  without  hopes,  that  when  removed  to 
a  distance  from  Hargrave,  her  aunt  would  remit  somewhat  of  her 
diligence  in  his  cause.  L;iura  expected  that  iiis  duty  would  gene- 
rally confine  him  to  head-quarters,  and  she  hoped  to  find  in  his  ab- 
sence a  respite  from  one  half  of  her  plagues.  At  ail  events,  from 
London  she  thought  she  could  easily  procure  an  escort  to  Scot- 
land, and  she  was  determined  rather  finally  to  forfeit  the  protec- 
tion of  Lady  Pelham,  than  submit  to  such  annoyance  as  she  had  of 
late  endured. 

Laura  could  not  help  wondering  sometimes  that  her  aur-t,  while 
she  appeared  so  anxious  to  promote  the  success  of  Hargrave, 
should  meditate  a  step  which  woiUd  place  him  at  a  distance  from 
the  object  of  his  pursuit  ;  but  Lady  Pelham's  conduct  was  so  ge- 
nerally incojisistent,  that  Laura  was  weary  of  trying  to  reconciie 
its  contradictories.  She  endeavoured  to  hope  that  Lady  Pelliam, 
at  last  becoming  sensible  of  the  inefficacy  of  her  cilorts,  was  lier- 
sclf  growing  des'.rous  to  escape  the  Colonel's  importunity;  and 
she  thought  she  could  obse've,  that  as  the  time  of  their  departure 
approached^  her  ladyship  relaxed  somewhat  of  licr  industry  in 
f^azing-.  ■ 

liutthe  motives  of  Lady  Pclliam's  removal  did  rot  at  all  coin- 
cide with  her  niece's  hopes  ;  and  nothing- could  be  farther  frcm 
her  intention,  than  to  resign  her  labours  in  a  field  so  rich  in  con- 
troversy and  provocation.  She  imagiued  that  Laura's  obstinacy 
was  occasioned,  or  at  least  sti  engthencd  by  the  influence  of  the 
1)0  Courcys,  and  she  expected  that  a  more  general  acquaintance 
with  the  world  would  remove  her  prejudices.  At  \Vall)ourne,  Laii- 
pa,  if  ofl'ended,  could  always  take  refuge  v»iih  Mis.  l)e  Conrcy. 
In  London,  she  v»ould  be  more  deft-nceless.  At  ^Va!boul•ne,  Lady 
Pelham  acted  under  restraint,  fur  there  -u^ere  few  objects  to  divide 
V  ith  her  the  observation  of  lier  neighbours,  and  she  felt  lierself 
accoimtable  to  them  for  the  piopiiety  of  her  conduct  ;  but  she 
would  be  more  at  liberty  in  a  place  where,  each  immersed  in  isi.s 
own  business  or  pleasure,  no  oiic  liad  leisure  to  comment  on  tlie 
concerns  of  others.  She  knc  Vv  that  Hargrave  would  findir^eans 
t )  escape  the  duty  of  remaining  with  his  regiment,  anfc^dced  Ijad 
eor.certed  v/itli  him  the  whofe  plan  of  her  operations. 

.Meanwhile  La>ira,  altog-ether  unsuspicious 'of  their  designs, 
gladly  prepared  for  her  joMrney,  considering  it  as  a  f(,rrunate  ia- 
fitance  of  the  instability  of  Lady  Pclham*s  pvirposes-  She  paid  a 
parting  visit  to  Mrs.  Uolingbroke,  whom  she  for.nd  established  in 
quiet  possession  of  all  the  goods  of  fojtunc.  Hy  the  aid  of  Mrs. 
I3e  Courcy's  carriage,  she  contrived,  without  molestation  from 
Hargrave,  to  spend  mucli  of  her  time  at  Norwood,  where  she  wua 
.always  i*eceivecl  witli  a  kindness  the  most  Battering,  and  loaded 
1  2 


102 

with  testimonies  of  regard.  De  Courcy  stiil  kept  his  secret;  and 
l^aura's  suspicions  rather  diminished  when  she  considered  that, 
thDUg-li  he  knew  she  was  to  go  without  any  certainty  of  returning-, 
he  "suffered  numberless  opportunities  to  pass  witliout  breathing  a 
syllable  of  love. 

The  day  preceding-  that  which  was  fixed  for  the  journey  arrived  ; 
rind  Laura  begged  Lady  Pelham's  permission  to  spend  it  entirely 
■with  Mrs.  De  Courcy.  Lady  Pelham  was  rather  unwilling  to  con. 
sent,  for  she  remembered  that  her  last  excursion  had  been  render- 
ed abortive  by  a  visit  to  Norwood;  but,  flattering  herself  that  her 
present  scheme  was  secure  from  hazard  of  failure,  she  assumed  an 
accommodating  humour,  and  not  only  ])crmitted  Laura  to  go,  but 
allowed  the  carriage  to  convey  her,  stipulating  that  she  should  re- 
turn it  immediately,  and  walk  home  in  tlie  evening.  She  found  the 
De  CouTcys  alone,  and  passed  the  day  less  cheerfully  than  any  she 
liad  ever  spent  at  Norwood.  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  though  kind,  was 
grave  and  thoughtful ;  Montague  absent,  and  melancholy.  Har- 
riet's never  falling  spirits  no  long-er  enlivened  the  party,  and  her 
place  was  but  feebly  supplied  by  the  infantine  g-aiety  of  Ue  Courcy  s 
little"  protege  Henry.  This  child,  who  was  the  toy  of  all  his  patron's 
leisure  hours,  had,  during-  her  visits  to  Norwood,  become  particu- 
larly interesting  to  Laura.  His  quickness,  his  uncommon  beauty, 
his  engaging-  frankness,  above  all,  the  innocent  fondness  which  he 
shewed  for  her,  iiad  really  attached  her  to  him,  and  he  repaid  her 
vv^ith  all  the  affections  of  his  little  heart.  He  would  quit  his  toys 
to  hang  upon  her  ;  and,  though  at  other  times,  as  restless  as  any 
of  Ills  kind,  was  never  weary  of  sitting  quietly  on  her  knee,  clasp- 
ing her  snowy  neck  in  his  little  sun-burnt  arms.  His  prattle  agree- 
ably interrupted  the  taciturnity  into  which  the  litttle  party  were 
falling,  till  his  grandfather  came  to  take  him  away.  "  Kiss  your 
handHenry,  and'bid  Miss  Montreville  farewell,"  said  the  old  man 
as  he  was  about  to  take  himfrom  Laura's  arms.  "It  will  be  along 
while  before  you  see  her  again."  "  Are  you  going  away  ?"  said 
the  child,  looking  sorrowfully  in  Laura's  face.  *♦  Yes,  far  away," 
answered  Laura.  "  Then  Henry  will  go  with  you,  Henry's  dear 
pretty  lady."  "  No  no,"  said  hi's  grandfather.  *'  You  must  go  to 
your  mammy  ;  good  boys  love  their  mammies  best"  **  Then  you 
ought  to  be  Henry's  mammy,"  cried  the  child,  sobbing,  and  lock- 
ing his  arms  round  Laur.Vs  neck,  **  for  Henry  loves  you  best." — 
•*  My  dear  boy  !"  cried  Laura,  kissing  hh^  with  a  smile  that  half- 
consented  to  Ills  wish  ;  but,  happening  to  turn  her  eyes  towards 
De  Courcy,  she  saw  him  change  colour,  and,  with  an  abruptness 
unlike  his*  usual  manner,  he  snatched  the  boy  from  her  arms,  and 
regardless  of  his  cries,  dismissed  him  from  the  room. 

Tills  Uttle  incident  did  not  contribute  to  the  cheerfulness  of  the 
group.  Grieved  to  part  with  her  favourite,  and  puzzled  to  account 
for  De  Courcy's  behaviour,  Laura  was  now  the  most  silent  of  the 
trio.  She  saw  nothing  in  the  childish  expression  of  fondness  which 
should  have  moved  De  Courcy ;  yet  it  hadevidently  stung  him  with 
sudden,  uneasiness.    She  now  rec<?U?,cted  that  sh«  had  more  thajj 


103 

orice  inquired  who  were  the  parents  of  tliis  cnild,  and  that  lue 
question  had  id\vii3's  been  evaded^  A  motive  of  curiosity  prompt^ 
ed  her  now  to  repeat  her  inquiry,  and  she  addressed  it  to  Mrs.  Da 
CoiMcy.  "With  a  slii^ht  shade  of  embaiTassmetit  Airs.  De  Courcy 
answered,  *'  His  mother  was  the  only  child  of  oiir  old  servant;  a 
pretty,  meek-spirited,  unfortunate  girl ;  and  his  father" — **  His  fa- 
tlicr's  crimes,"  interrupted  Dc  Courcy,  lu'.stily,  '*  have  brought 
their  own  punisliment ;  a  punishment  beyond  mortal  fortitude  to 
bear ;" — and,  catfrliing*  up  a  book,  he  asked  Laura  vrhclher  she  had 
seen  it,  ei\deavouring'  to  divert  her  attention  by  pointing-  out  some 
pasr\e^es  to  her  notice,  l,aura*s  curiosity  v.as  increased  by  this 
appearance  of  concealment,  but  she  hnd  no  means  of  gratifying  it, 
and  the  subject  vanished  from  her  mind  wiicn  she  thought  of  bid- 
ding farewell  to  hen  beloved  friends,  perhaps  for  ever. 

When  she  was  about  to  go,  Mrs.  l)e  Courcy  affectionately  era- 
braced  her.  "  My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "  second  in  my  lo-.e  and 
esttem  only  to  niy  ov.-n  Montague,  almost  the  warmest  wish  of  my 
heart  is  to  retain  you  always  with  me ;  but,  if  that  is  impossible, 
short  may  your  absence  be,  and  may  you  return  to  us  as  joyfully 
as  we  shall  receive  you."  SVeeping,  nnd  reluctant  to  part,  i.aura 
at  last  tore  herself  away.  Hargrave  had  so  often  stolen  upon  Irer 
walks  that  the  fear  of  meeting  him  was  become  habitual  to  her, 
and  she  wished  to  escape  him  by  reaching  home  before  her  return 
could  be  expected.  As  she  leant  on  Dc  Courcy's  arm,  asliamed  of 
being  unable  to  suppress  her  sensibility,  slie  averted  lier  head,  and 
looked  sadly  back  upon  a  dwelling  endeared  to  her  by  many  an  in- 
nocent, many  a  rational  pleasure. 

Absorbed  in  her  regrets,  Laura  had  proceeded  a  considerable 
way  before  she  observed  that  she  helcfa  trembling  arm  ;  and  re- 
collected that  De  Courcy  had  scarcely  spokon  since  their  walk  be- 
gan. Her  tears  suddenly  ceased,  wMJe  confused  and  disquieted, 
she  quickened  lier  pace.  Soon  recollecting  herself,  she  stopped; 
and  thanking  him  for  his  escort,  begged  that  he  would  go  no  fur- 
ther. **  I  cannot  leave  you  yet,"  said  De  Courcy  in  a  voice  of  re- 
strained emotion,  and  again  he  led  her  onwards.  A  few  short  sen- 
tences were  all  that  passed  till  they  had  almost  reached  the  antique 
gate  which  terminated  the  winding  part  of  the  avenue.  Here  Lau- 
ra  again  endeavoured  to  prevail  upon  her  companion  to  return,  but 
without  success.  With  more  composure  than  before,  he  refused 
to  leave  her.  Dreading  to  encounter  Hargrave  while  De  Courcy 
Was  in  such  evident  agitation,  she  besouglit  him  to  go,  telling 
him  that  it  was  her  particular  wish  that  he  should  proceed  no  far- 
ther. He  instantly  stopped,  and  clasping  her  hand  between  his, 
.**  Must  I  then  leave  you,  Laura,"  said  he  ;  "you  whose  presence 
has  so  long  been  the  charm  of  mV  existence  r"  The  blood  rushed 
violently  into  Laura's  face,  and  as  suddenly  retired.  "And  can  I," 
continued  De  Courcy,  **  can  I  suffer  }0u  to  go  v»ithout  pouring 
out  my  full  heart  to  you  ?"  Laura  breathed  painfully,  and  she 
pressed  her  hand  upon  her  bosom  to  restrain  its  swelling.  **  To 
talk  to  joii  of  passion,"  resumed  De  Courcy,  "  is  noUiing-   Yo» 


lOJt 

have  twined  yourself  with  every  v.isb  and  every  emprojTTicnt, 
every  motive,  every  hope,  till  to  part  with  you  is  tearing,  my  heart- 
string-s."  Apfain  lie  paused.  Laura  felt  that  she  was  expected  to 
reply,  and,  thoug-h  trembling  and  breathless,  made  aii  effort  to 
speak.  **  This  is  '.vliat  I  feared,"  said  she,  "  and  yet  I  wish  you  had 
been  less  explicit,  fv)r  there  is  no  liuraan  beincp  whose  friendship  ia 
so  dear  to  me  a^  yours  ;  and  now  I  feaV  5^  ought." — Fhe  sob  which 
liadbeen  strug-f^ling  i)i  lier  brea?it  now  clicked  her  utterance,  and 
she  wept  aloud.  "  It  is  the  will  of  heaven,"  said  she,  '*  that  I  should 
be  reft  of  every  earthly  friend.*'  She  covered  her  face  and  stood 
labouring  to  compose  herself;  while,  lieart-struck  with  a  disap- 
pointment Vv'hiclj  was  not  mitigated  by  al!  the  gentleness  Mith  which 
it  was  conveyed,  De  Courcy  was  unable  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Ungrateful !  selfish  tliat  I  am,"  exclaimed  Laura,  suddenly 
dashing  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  "thus  to  think  only  of  my  own 
loss,  while  I  am  giving-  pain  to  the  worthiest  of  hearts. — My  best 
friend,  I  cannot  indeed  return  the  regard  with  whicli  you  honour 
me,  but  I  can  make  you  cease  to  wish  tliat  I  sliould.  And  I  deserve 
the  sliame  and  anguish  I  shall  suHer.  Slie,  whom  you  honour  with 
your  love,"  continued  she,  the  burning  crimson  glowing  in  her  fu'ce 
and  neck,  "  has  been  the  sport  of  a  passion,  strong  as  disgraceful — 
dis.:^raceful  as  its  object  is  worthless." 

Her  look,  her  voice,  her  manner  conveyed  to-  De  Cnurcy  the 
strongest  idea  of  the  torture  which  this  confession  cost  her;  and 
no  sufferings  of  his  own  could  make  him  insensible  to  those  of 
Laura.  "  Cease,  cease,"  he  cried,  *'  best  and  dearest  of  women,, 
do  not  add  to  my  wretchedness  the  thought  of  giving  pain  to  you." 
Then,  after  a  few  moments'  pause,  lie  contiriued,  "  it  v.'ould  be 
wronging  your  noble  cailpdour  to  doubt  that  you  have  recalled 
your  affections."  ♦•  In  doing  so,"  answered  Laura,  "  I  can  claim 
no  merit.  Infatuation  itself  could  have  been  blind  no  longer." — 
"  Then  why,  dearest  Laura',"  cried  De  Courcy,  his  heart  again 
boimding  with  l:ope,  '*  why  may  not  time  and  tlie  fond  assiduities 
of  love" — "  Ah  !"  interrupted  Laura,  "  that  is  impossible.  A  mere 
preference  1  miglit  give  you,  but  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  have  no 
more  to  give."  "  My  heavenly  Laura,"  cried  De  Courcy,  eager 
joy  beaming  in  his  eyes,  '*  give  me  but  this  preference,  and  I  would 
not  exchange  it  for  the  fondest  passion  of  all  woman-kind."  "  You 
deceive  yoiu'self,"  said  Laura,  mournful}}'',  ^  miserably  deceive 
yourself.  Such  a  sentiment  codld  never  content  you.  You  would 
miss  a  thousand  littl^arts  of  happiness  which  love  alone  can  teacl 
observe  a  thousand  nameless  coldnesses  whicli  no  caution  could 
conceal ;  and  you  would  be  unha]>py  without  kif<jfwing  perhaps  of 
what  to  complain.  Y'ou,  who  woidd  deserve  the  warmest  affection 
to  be  content  with  mere  endurance  !  Oh  no,  I  should  be  wretched" 
in  the  bare  thought  of  offering  you  so  poor  a  return." 

*'  Endurance,  Laura  !  i  sliouid  indeed  be  a  monster  to  find  joy 
in  any  thing  which  you  could  describe  by  such  a  word  :  But  must 
I  despair  of  awakening  such  affection  as  will  make  duty  delightful, 
such  as  will  enjoy  the  bliss  which  it  bestows  ?'* 


105- 

'*  Believe  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Laura  in  a  voice  as  sweet, 
as  soothing",  as  ever  conveyed  the  tenderest  confession,  "  believe 
me  I  :im  not  insensible  to  the  value  of  your  rep^ard.  It  adds  u  new 
debt  of  gratitude  to  all  that  Montreville's  dauii^hter  owes  you.  My 
highest  esteem  shall  ever  be  yours,  but  after  what  I  have  confided 
to  you,  a  moment's  cpnsideration  must  convince  you  that  all  be- 
yond is  impossible."  ■*  Ah  1*  thought  I)e  Courcy,  "  what  will  it 
cost  me  to  believe  that  it  is  indeed  impossible-"  Ikit  Laura's  avowal 
was  not  quite  so  fatal  to  his  hopes  as  siie  imagined  ;  and  while  she 
supposed  that  he  was  summoning  fortitude  to  endure  their  final 
destruction,  he  stood  silently  pondering  Mrs-  De  Courcy's  oft  re- 
peated counsel  to  kt  love  borrow  the  garb  of  friendship,  nor  suffer 
him  undisguised  to  approach-  the  heai-t  where,  having  once  been 
dethroned"  as  an  usurper,  all  was  in  ai-ms  against  him. 

"  If  I  must  indeed  renounce  every  dearer  hope,"  resumed  he, 
"then  in  your  friendship,  my  ever  dear  Miss  Montreville,  I  must 
seek  the  happiness  of  my  after-life,  and  surely" — **  Oh  no,"  inter- 
,  rupted  Laura,  "  that  must  not  be — the  part,  the  little  part  of  your 
happiness  which  will  depend  upon  earthly  connexions,  you  must 
find  in  that  of  some  fortunate  woman  who  has  yet  a  heart  to  give." 
"  How  can  you  name  it  to  me  ?"  cried  Be  Courcy  half  indignantly  ! 
**  Can  he  wjio  has  known  you  Laura,  admired  in  you  all  that  is  n'o- 
\f\e,  loved  in  you  all  that  is  enchanting,  transfer  his  heart  to  some 
common-place  being  ? — You  are  my  business — 5  ou  arc  n;y  plea- 
sure— I  toil  but  to  be  wortliy  of  you — ^_vour  approbation  is  my  sweet- 
est reward — all  earthly  things  are  precious  to  me  but  as  you  share 
in  them — even  abetter  world  borrows  hope  from  you.  And  is  this 
a  love  to  be  bestowed  on  some  soulless  thing  ?  No,  Laura,  I  can- 
not, wiii  not  .change.  If  I  c'r-not  v.in  your  iove,  I  will  admit  no 
substitute  but  your  friendship." 

"  Indeed,  Mr^De  Courcy,"  cried  Laura,  unconsciously  pressing, 
in  the  energy  of  her  speech,  the  hand  which  held  hers,'  "  Indeed 
it  is  to  no  common-place  woman  that  I  wish  to  resign  you.  Lonely 
as  my  own  life  m.ust  be,  its  chief  pleasures  must  arise  from  the 
happiness  of  my  friends,  and  to  know  that  you  are  happy."  Laura 
stopped,  for  she  felt  her  voice  grow  trcmulous>  *'  But  we  will  not 
talk  of  this  now,"  resumed  she,  ♦*  I  shall  be  absent  for  some 
months  at  least,  and  in  that  time  )ou  will  bring  yourself  to  think 
difll-rently.     Promise  Tne  at  least  tcymake  the  attempt.' 

"  No  iJaura,'*'  answered  De  Courcy,  **  that  I  cannot  promise.  I 
will  never  harass  you  with  importunity  or  complaint,  but  the  love 
of  you  sliall  be  my  heart's  treasure,  it  shall  last  through  life — be- 
yond life — and  if  yo'.j  c.innot  love  mc,  give  in  return  only  such  kind 
thouglits  as  you  woidd  bestow  on  one  wb.o  would  promote  your 
liappiuess  at  tlic  e\pense  of  liis  own.  And  promise  me  dearest 
Laura,  that  wlicn  we  meet,  you  will  not  receive  me  with  suspicion 
or  reserve,  as  if  you  feared  that  I  should  presume  on  your  favour, 
or  persecute  you  v.ith  solicitations.  Trust  to  my  honour,  trust  to 
m}  love  itself  for  sparing  you  all  unavailing  entreaty.  Promise  me 
tli^n  ever  to  consider  mc  as  a  friend,  a  faithful,  tender  friend  ;  and 


106 

toi-g-et,  till  my  weakness  reminds  you  of  it,  that  ever  you  knew  me 
as  a  lover." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  De  Courcy,"  cried  Laura,  tears  fiiHn|^J|ier  eyeSj 
"  what  thoughts  bat  the  kindest  can  I  ever  have  of  hinti'-who  com- 
forted my  fatiier's  sorrows,  who  relieved — in  a  manner  that  made 
relief  indeed  a  kindness— relieved  my  father's  wants  ?  And  what 
suspicion,  what  coldness  can  T  ever  ISel  towards  hino  whom  my  fa- 
ther loved  and  honoured  ?  Yps  I  will  trust  you  ;  for  I  know  tliat 
you  are  as  far  above  owing  fr.vouis  to  compassion  as  to  fear." 

**  A  thousand  thanks,  beloveid  Laura,"  cried  De  Courcy,  kissing" 
lier  hands,  *'  and  thus  I  seal  our  compact.  One  thing  more  ;  shall 
I  trespass  on  yournoble  frankness,  if  I  ask  you  wiictJicr,  had  not 
another  stolen  the  blessing,  I  might  have  hoped  to  awaken  a  warmer 
regard  ?  whether  any  labour,  any  cares  could  have  won  for  me 
what  he  has  forfeited  ?" 

Silent  and  blus)iing,  Laura  stood  for  a  few  moments  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  then .  raising  them,  said,  "  From  yoa 
I  fear  no  wrong  construction  of  my  words,  and  will  frankly  own 
to  you  that  for  my  own  sake,  as  well  as  yours,  I  wish  you  had 
been  known  tome  ere  the  serpent  wound  me  in  his  poisoned  folds. 
I  believe  indeed,  that  no  mortal  but  himself  could  have  inspii-ed 
the  same — what  shall  I  call  an  infatuation  with  which  reason  had 
nothing  to  do  ?  But  you  have  the  virtues  which.  I  have  been;  taught 
to  love,  and — and — But  what  avails  it  now  ?  I  wfl«  indeed  a.  social 
creature  ;  domestic  habits,  domestic  wishes  strong  in  me.  But 
what  avails  it  now  V* 

*'  And  was  there  a  time  when  you  could  have  loved  me,  Laura  ! 
Blessings  on  you  for  the  concession.  It  shall  cheer  my  exiled 
heart  when  you  are  far  distant;  sooth  me  wltK -i3elig>Ut.fui  day- 
dreams of  what  might  have  been;  and  give  my  solitude  a  charm 
which  none  but  you  could  bring  to  the  most  social  hour." 

**  Your  solitude,  my  honoured  friend,"  replied  Laura,  "  needs 
it  not ;  Uhas  better  and  nobler  charms  ;  the  channs  of  usefulness, 
of  piety  ;  and  long  may  these  form  your  business  and  delight  But 
what  makes  me  linger  with  you  ?  I  meant  to  have  hastened  home 
that  I  might  avoid  one  as  unlike  to  you  as  confidence  is  to  fear  ; 
the  feelings  which  you  each  inspire — Farewell.  I  trust  I  shall  soon 
hear  that  you  are  w'cU  and  happy." 

Loth  to  part,  De  Courcy  endeavoured  to  detain  her  while  he 
again  gave  utterance  to  his  strbng  affection  ;  and  when  she  would 
be  gone,  bade  her  farewell  in  language  so  solemn,  so  tender,  that 
all  her  self-command  could  not  repress  the  tears  which  trickled 
down  her  cheeks.  .  They  parted  ;  he  followed  her  to  beg  that  she 
would  think  of  him  sometimes.  Again  she  left  him  ;  again  he  had 
some  little  boon  to  crave.  She  reached  the  gate,  and  looking  back;' 
saw  Dc  Courcy  standing  motionless  where  she  had  last  quitted 
him.  She  beckoned  a  farev.ell.  The  gate  closed  after  her,  and 
De  Courcy  felt  as  if  one  blank  dreary  waste  had  blotted  the  fair 
fa<;e  of  n:vturc. 


107 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Tke  evening'  was  closing-,  when  Laura  proceeded  on  her  wri} 
She  had  outstaid  her  purposed  time,  and  from  every  bush  by  the 
pfctii  side  she  expected  to  see  Hargrave  steal  upon  her  ;  in  every 
gustof  tlie  chill  November ijfiind  slie  thought  she  heard  his  foot- 
step. She  ])asscd  the  last  cottages  connected  with  Norwood.  The 
evening  fires  glanced  cheerfully  through  the  casements,  and  the 
voice  of  rustic  mei  rinu^nt  came  softened  on  the  ear.  "  Amiable 
Dc  Courcy !"  tliought  L:;ura.  >*  The  meanest  of  his  dependents 
finds  comfort  in  his  protection,  while  the  being  on  whom  I  have 
lavislied  the  affection  whicii  might  have  rejoiced  that  worthy  heart, 
makes  lumself  an  object  of  dread,  •  oven  to  her  whom  he  pretends 
to  love."  She  reached  home,  hoAvever,  without  interruption,  and 
was  going  to  join  Lady  Peiham  in  the  sitting  room  ;  when  happen- 
ing to  pass  a  looking-glass,  she-  observed  that  her  eyes  still  bore 
traces  of  the  tears  she  hrtd  been  shedding,  and,  in  dread  of  the 
merciless  raillery  of  her  aunt,  she  iv-tired  to  her  own  room.  There 
with  an  undefined  feeling  of  despondence  she  sat  down  to  recon- 
sider her  conversation  with  De  Courcy. 

Never  was  task  more  easy,  or  moi-e  unprofitable.  She  remem- 
bered ey^ry  word  tliat  De  Courcy  had  uttered  ;  remembered  the 
very  tone,  look,  and  gesture  with  wUich  they  were  spoken.  She 
recollected  too  all  tliat  she  h;id  said  in  reply  ;  but  she  could  by  no 
means  unravel  the  confused  effects  of  tlie  scene  upon  her  own  mind. 
She  certainly  pitied  her  lover  to  a  very  painful  degice.  *'  Poor 
De  Courcy  !"  said  she,  accompanying  the  half-whisper  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  Hut  having,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour's  rumination,  re- 
peated the  soliloquy  about  twenty  times,  she  began  to  recollect 
that  De  Courcy  had  borne  his  disappointmer.t  with  considerable 
philosophy,  and  had  appeared  to  derive  no  small  comfort  from  the 
prospect  of  o'U  intercourse  of  mere  friendship.  This  fortunate  re- 
collection, however,  not  immediately  relieving  her,  she  endeavour- 
ed to  account  for  her  depi'essio-i  by  laying'  hold  of  a  vague  ide«. 
which  was  floating  in  her  mind,  that  she  had  not  on  this  occasion 
acted  as  she  ought.  Friendships  between  young  persons  of  differ- 
ent sexes  were  proverbial  fomenters  of  the  tender  passion  ;  and 
though  she  was  herself  in  p/i  feet  s.afrty,  was  it  right  to  expose  to 
such  hazard  the  peace  of  De  Courcy  ?  was  it  generous,  was  it  even 
honourable  Lo  increase  the  difficulties  of  his  self-conquest,  by  ad- 
mitting him  to  the  intimacy  of  friendship?  It  was  true  he  had 
voluntarily  sought  the  post  of  danger  ;  but  then  he  was  under  the 
dommion  of  an  ii'.fluence  whicii  did  not  allow  him  to  weigh  conse- 
itjucnccs  ;  and  was  it  not  unp.irdonable  in  her  who  was  in  full  pos^ 
session  of  herself,  to  sanction,  lo  aid  liis  imprudence  ?  Yet  how 
could  she  have  rejected  a  friendship  which  did  her  so  much  ho- 
nour ?  ti  :  ^-iendship  of  the  man  whom  her  father  had  so  loved  and 
respected  I  of  the  man  to  whom  her  father  had  wished  to  see  her 
connected  by  the  closest  ties  !  the  man  to  whom  she  owed  obliga- 


108 

tions  never  to  be  repaid  ?  Alas !  how  had  she  acknowledg-ed  tliese 
obligations  ?  By  suffering  the  most  amiable  of  mankind  to  sport 
with  his  aifections,  wliile  she  had  weakly  thrown  away  her  own. 
IJut  the  mischief  was  not  yet  totally  irremediable  ;  and  dazzled  by 
the  romantic  ijenerosity  of  sacrificing  her  highest  eai  thly  joy  to 
the  restoration  of  her  benefa9tor's  quiet,  she  snatched  a  pen,  in- 
tending to  retract  her  promise.  An  obsolete  notion  of  decoriftn 
wasfor  once  favourable  to  a  lover,  and  Laura  saw  the  impropriety 
of  writing  to  De  Courcy.  Besides,  it  occiuTed  to  her  that  she 
might  witlidraw  into  Scotland,  without  formally  announcing  the 
reason  of  her  retreat ;  and  thus  leave  herself  at  liberty  to  receive 
De  Courcy  as  a  friend  whenever  disoretion  should  warrant  this  in- 
dulgence. After  her  most  magnanimous  resolves,  however,  feel- 
ing her  mind  as  confused  ar.d  comfortless  as  before,  she  determined 
to  obtain  the  benefit  of  impartial  counsel,  and  changed  the  desti- 
nation of  the  paper  on  which  she  had  already  written  "  My  dear 
i'rieTjd,"  from  De  Courcy  to  Mrs.  Doviglas. 

With  all  her  native  candour  and  singleness  of  heart  did  Laura 
detail  her  case  to  the  monitress  of  her  youth.  To  reveal  De  Cour- 
cy's  name  was  contrary  to  her  principles  ;  but  slie  described  his 
situation,  his  mode  of  life,  and  domestic  habits.  She  enlarged 
upon  his  character,  her  obligations  to  him,  and  th^  reg'ret  v.iiich, 
for  his  sake,  she  felt,  tliat  particular  circumstances  rcntlfred  her 
incapable  of  such  an  attachment  as  was  necessary  for  conjugal 
happiness.  She  mentioned  her  compliance  with  her  lover's  reqtiest 
of  a  continuance  of  their  ff)rmer  intimacy ;  confessed  her  doubts 
of  the  propriety  of  her  concession  ;  and  entreated  Mrs.  Douglas's 
explicit  opinion  on  the  past,  as  well  as  her  directions  for  the 
future.  y       ' 

Her  min^d  thus  unburdened,  she  was  less  perplexed  and  uneasy  ; 
and  the  next  morning  cheerfully  commenced  her  journey,  pleasing 
herself  with  the  prospect  of  being  released  from  the  harassing- at- 
tendance of  Hargrave.  On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  the  tra- 
vellers reached  Grosvenor  Street;  and  the  unsuspecting  Laura, 
with  renewed  sentimeuls  of  gratitude  towards  her  aunt,  revisted 
tlie  dwelling  which  had  received  lier  when  she  could  claim  no 
other  shelter. 

Her  annuity  having  now  become  due,  Laura,  soon  after  her  ar- 
rival in  town,  one  day  borrowed  L;:  ^  ■  Peliiam's  chariot,  that  she 
might  go  to  receive  the  money,  and  purchase  some  necessary  ad- 
ditions to  her  wardrobe.  Hemcmbering,  however,  the  inconve- 
Hiences  to  wiiich  she  had  been  subjected  by  her  imprudence  in 
leavingherself  without  money,  she  regulated  her  disbursements 
by  the  strictest  economy  ;  determined  to  reserve  a  sum,  which, 
besides  a  little  gift  to  her  cousin,  might  defray  the  expense  of  a 
journey  to  ScotlancL 

Her  Wity  cliancing  to  lie  through  Polborn,  a  recollection  of  the 
civiUtics  of  her  old  landlady,  induced  her  to  stop  and  inquire  for 
Mrs.  Dawkins.  The  goodvvomaji  almost  compelled  her  to  alight  ^ 
.overwheloicd  hcr'with  welcomes,  and  asked  u  hundred  questions  { 


109 

in  a  breath,  giving   In  return   a  very  detailed  account  of  all  Ucf 
family  affairs.     She  informed  Laura,  that  Miss  Julia,  having  lately 
read  the  life  of  a  heroine  who  in  the  capacity  of  a  governess  cap- 
tivated the  heart  of  a  great  lord,  had  been  seized  with  a  desire  to 
seek  adventures  under  a  similar  character  ;  but  finding  that  re- 
commendations for  experience  were  necessary  to  her  udmissiou 
into  any  family  of  rank,  she    had  condescended  to  serve  an  ap- 
prenticeship in  the  tuition  of  the  daughters   of  an  eminent  cow- 
feeder.    The  good  woman  expressed  great  compassion   for  tlic 
pupils  of  so  incompetent  a  teacher,  from  whom  they  couldilearn 
nothing  useful.     *'But  that  was/*  she  observed,  "their  father's 
look  out,  and  in  the  mean  time  it  was  so  far  well  that  July  was  do- 
ing something  towards  her  keeping."     After  a  visit  of  some  length 
Laura  wished  to  be  gone,  but  her  hostess  would  not  suspend  her 
eloquence  long  enough  to  suffer  her  to  take  leave.   She  was  at  last 
obliged  to  interrupt  the  harangue  ;  and  breaking  from  her  inde- 
fatigable entertainer,  hurried  home,  not  a  little  alarmed  lest  her 
stay  should  expose  her  on  her  return  home  to  oratory  of  a  different 
kind.     Lady  Pelham,  however,  received  her  most  graciously,  ex- 
amined all  her  purchases,  and  inquired  very  particularly  into  the 
cost  of  each.     She  calculated  the  amount,  and  the  balance  of  the 
annuity    remaining    in    Laura's    possession.     **  Five    and   thirty 
pounds  !**  she  exclaimed — "  what  in  the  world,  Laura,  will  you 
do  with   60  much  money  V*    "  Perhaps  five  and  thirty  different 
things,"  answered  Laura,  smiling  ;  "  I  have  never  had,  nor  ever 
shall  have,  half  so  much  money  as  I  could  spend."     "  Oh  you  ex- 
travagant thing  !"  cried  Lady  Pelham,  patting  her  cheek.    "  But 
take  care  that  some  one  does  not  save  you  the  trouble  of  spending 
it.     You  should  be  very  sure  of  the  locks  of  your  drawers.     You 
had  better  let  me  put  your  treasures  into  my  bureau."     Laura  was 
about  t©  comply,  when  recollecting  that    thei-e  might  be   some 
aukwardness  in  asking  her  aunt  for  the  money  while  she  conceal- 
ed its  intended  destination,   she  thanked  Lady  Pelham,  but  said 
she  supposed  it  would  be  perfectly  safe   in  her  own  ^stody  ;  and 
then,  as  usual,  avoided  impending  altercation  by  hastening  out  of 
the  room.     She  thought  Lady  Pelham  looked  displeased  ;  but  as 
that  was  a  necessary  effect  of  the  slightest  contradiction,  she  saw 
it  without  violent  concern  ;  and  the  next  time  they  met,  her  lady- 
ship was  again  all  smiles  and  courtesy. 

Three  days,  *  three  wondrous  days,*  all  was  sunshine  and  se- 
renity. Lady  Pelham  was  the  most  ingenious,  the  most  amusing, 
the  most  fascinating  of  woman-kind.  "  What  a  pity,"  thought 
Laura,  "  that  my  aunt's  spirits  are  so  fluctuating  !  How  delightful 
she  can  be  when  she  pleases  !"  In  the  midst  of  these  brilliant 
hours,  Lady  Pelham  one  morning  ran  into  the  room  where  Laura 
was  at  work — "  Here's  a  poor  fellow,"  said  she,  with  a  look  and 
voice  all  compassion,  "  who  has  sent  me  his  account,  and  says  he 
must  go  to  jail  if  it  is  not  paid  instantly.  But  it  is  quite  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  get  the  money  till  to-morrow.**  **  To  jail !"  cried 
Laura,  shocked — "  What  is  the  amount?"  "  Forty  pourids,"  said 

K 


110  jg 

Lady  Pelham,  "  and  I  have  not  above  ten  In  the  house."  "  T*t^ 
mine,"  cried  Laura,  hastening  to  bring*  it.  Lady  Pelham  stopped 
her.  "No,  my  dear  good  girl,"  said  she,  "  1  won't  takeaway 
youF  little  store,  perhaps  you  may  want  it  yourself."  ♦*  Oh  no," 
•said  Laura,  "  I  cannot  want  it,  pray  let  me  bring  it."  *•  The 
poor  man  has  a  large  family,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  "  but  indeed  I 
am  vtjry  unwilling  to  take — "  Her  ladyship  spared  further  regrets, 
for  Laura  was  out  of  hearing.  She  returned  in  a  moment  with 
the  whole  of  her  wealth,  out  of  which.  Lady  Pelham,  after  some 
further  hesitation,  was  prevailed  upon  to  take  thirty  pounds  ;  a 
robbery  to  which  she  averred  that  she  would  never  have  consent- 
ed, but  for  the  wretched  situation  of  an  innocent  family,  and  her 
own  certainty  of  repaying  the  debt  in  a  day  or  two  at  farthest. 
Several  days,  however,  passed  away,  and  Lady  Pelham  made  no 
mention  of  discharging  her  debt.  Laura  wondered  a  little  that 
her  aunt  should  forget  a  promise  so  lately  and  so  voluntarily  given ; 
?)ut  her  attention  was  entirely  diverted  from  tlxe  subject  by  the' 
following  letter  from  Mrs  Douglas. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  Laura,  I  lose  no  time  in  answering  your 
letter,  though,  for  the  first  time,  I  answer  you  with  some  per- 
plexity. The  weight  which  you  have  always  kindly  allowed  to  my 
opinion,  makes  me  at  all  times  give  it  v/ith  timidity  ;  but':'this  is 
not  the  only  reason  of  my  present  hesitation.    I  cotifess  that  in 

spite  of  the  apparent  frankness  and  perspicuity  with  which  you 
have  written,  I  am  not  able  exactly  to  comprehend  you.    You  des- 

u'ibe  a  mwi  of  respectable  abilities,  of  amiable  dispositions,  of 
sound  principles,  and  engaging  manners.  You  profess  that  such 
qualities,  aided  by  intimacy,  have  secured  your  cordial  friend- 
ship, while  obligations  beyond  return  have  enlivened  this  friend- 
ship by  the  warmest  gratitude.  But,  just  as  I  am  about  to  con- 
clude that  all  this  has  produced  its  natural  effect,  and  to  prepare 
my  congratulations  for  a  happy  occasion,  you  kill  my  expectations 
with  a  dismal  sentence,  expressing  your  regrets  for  having  been 
obliged  to  reject  the  addresses  of  this  excellent  person.  Now  this 
iuight  have  been  intelligible  enough,  supposing  you  were  pre-occu- 
pied  by  a  stronger  attachment.  Uut  so  far  from  this,  you  declare 
yourself  absolutely  incapable  of  any  exclusive  affection,  or  of  such 
a  regard  as  is  necessary  to  any  degree  of  happiness  in  the  conju- 
gal state.  I  know  not,  my  dear  Laura,  what  ideas  you  may  enter- 
tain of  the  fervency  suitable  to  wedded  love  ;  but  had  you  been 
?ess  peremptory,  I  should  have  thought  it  not  unlikely  to  spring 
fi'om  a  young  woman's  *  raost  cordial  esteem'  and  *  warmest  grati- 
tude' towards  a  young  man  with  *  expressive  black  eyes,*  and*  the 
most  benevolent  smile  in  the  world.* 

**  From  the  tenor  of  your  letter,  as  well  as  from  some  expres- 
sions you  have  formerly  dropped,  I  am  led  to  conjecture  that  you 
^hink  an  extravagant  passion  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  married 
life.  You  will  smile  at  the  expression  ;  but  if  it  offends  you, 
change  it  for  any  other  descriptive  of  a  feeling  beyond  tender 


Ill 

^headship,  and  you  will  find  the  substitute  nearly .  synonymout 
with  the  orig-inal.  Now  this  idea  appears  to  me  rather  errone- 
ous ;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking'  that  calm,  dispassionate  aftec- 
tion.  at  least  on  the  side  of  the  lady,  promises  more  permanent 
comfort. 

*•  All  male  writers  on  the  subject  of  love,  so  far  as  my  little 
knowledge  extends,  represent  possession  as  the  infallible  cure  of 
passion.  A  very  unattractive  picture,  it  must  be  confessed,  of  the 
love  of  that  lordly  sex  !  but  they  themselves  being  the  painters, 
the  deformity  is  a  pledge  of  the  resemblance,  and  I  own  my  small 
experience  furnishes  no  instance  to  contradict  their  testimony. 
Taking  its  truth  then  for  granted,  I  need  not  inquire  whether  the 
passions  of  our  own  sex  be  equally  fleeting.  If  they  be,  the  ena- 
moured pair  soon  find  themselves  at  best  in  the  same  situation 
with  those  who  marry  from  sober  sentiments  of  regard  ;  that  is, 
obliged  to  seek  happiness  in  the  esteem,  the  confidence,  the  for- 
bearance of  eacli  other.  But  if,  in  the  female  breast,  the  fervours 
of  passion  be  less  transient,  I  need  not  describe  to  you  the  suffer-^ 
ing's  of  feminine  sensibility  under  half-returned  ardours,  nor  the 
stings  of  feminine  pride  under  the  unnatural  and  mortifying 
transference  of  the  arts  of  courtship.  I  trust,  my  dear  child,  that 
should  you  even  m.oke  a  marriage  of  passion,  your  self-command 
will  enable  you  to  smother  its  last  embers  in  your  own  bosom, 
while  your  prudence  will  improve  the  short  advantage  which  is 
conferred  by  its  empire  in  that  of  your  husband,  to  lay  the 
foundation  of  an  affection  more  tender  than  friendship,  more  last- 
ing than  love. 

**  Again,  it  is  surely  of  the  utmost  consequence  to  the  felicity 
of  wedded  life,  that  a  just  and  temperate  estimate  be  formed  of 
the  character  of  him  to  whose  temper  we  must  accommodate  our- 
selves ;  wiiose  caprices  we  must-^flkire  ;  whose  failings  we  must 
pardon,  whether  the  discord  burst  upon  us  in  thunder,  or  steal 
on  amid  harmonies  wluch  render  it  imperceptible,  perhaps  half- 
pleasing.  Small  chance  is  there  that  passion  should  view  wiih 
the  cahn  extenuating,  eye  of  reason  the  faults  wiiich  it  suddenly- 
detects  in  the  god  of  its  idolatry.  The  once  fervent  votary  oV 
the  idol,  finding  it  unwoi-tiiy  of  his  v»orship,  ncp;!ccts  ihe  useful 
purposes  to  which  he  mij^Iit  apply  the  gold  which  it  contains. 

•^  I  have  other  reasons  Ibr  thinking  that  passion  is  at  best  unne- 
cessary to  conjugal  J;appiiiess  ;  but  even  if  1  should  make  you  :t. 
proselyte  to  my  opinion,  ti.e  conviction  would,  in  tlie  present 
case,  probably  come  too  late.  Such  a  laan  as  you  dcscriije  will 
probably  be  satisfied  with  tlie  answer  he  has  received,  lie  will 
certainly  never  importune  you,  nor  poorly  attempt  to  extort  from 
your  pityiwhat  he  could  noL  ^v  in  from  your  love.  His  attachment 
will  soon  subside  into  a  li  Icndly  regard  for  you,  or  be  diverted  in- 
to another  channel  by  virtues  giaiilar  to  those  which  first  attracted 
liim.  I  only  v.'ish,  my  dear  Laura,  that  alter  t'uls  change  takes 
place,  the  *  circumstances'  may  remain  iu  force  which  render, 
you  *  for  ever  incapable  of  repa}ingp  him  vrith  a  love  likr  hU  own* 


112 

If  you  are  sura  that  these  circumstances  are  decisive,  I  foresee  no 
evil  which  can  result  from  your  cultivating  a  friendship  so  honour- 
able and  advantag-eous  to  you,  as  that  of  a  man  of  letters  and  a 
Christian ;  whose  conversation  may  improve  your  mind,  and 
whose  experience  may  supply  that  knowledge  of  the  world 
which  is  rarely  attainable  by  a  woman  in  the  more  private 
'^valks  of  life.  i 

**  To  him  I  should  suppose  that  no  danger  could  arise  from  such 
an  intercourse.  We  are  all  apt  to  over-rate  the  strength  and  du- 
rability of  the  attachments  we  excite.  I  believe  the  truth  is,  that  in 
a  vigorous,  well-governed,  and  actively  employed  mind,  love 
jarely  becomes  that  resistless  tyrant  which  vanity  and  romances 
represent  him.  His  empire  is  divided  by  the  love  of  fame  or  the 
desire  of  usefulness,  the  eagerness  of  research  or  the  triumph  of 
discovery.  But  even  solitude,  idleness,  and  imagination  cannot 
long  support  his  dominion  without  tlie  assistance  of  hope  ;  and  1 
take  it  for  granted  from  your  tried  honour  and  generosity,  that 
your  answer  has  been  too  explicit  to  leave  your  lover  in  any  doubt 
that  your  sentence  is  final. 

"  I  own  I  could  have  wished,  that  the  virtues  of  my  ever  dear 
Laura  had  found  in  the  sacred  characters  of  wife  and  mother  a 
larger  field  than  a  state  of  celibacy  can  afford  ;  but  I  have  no  fear 
that  your  happiness  or  respectability  should  ever  depend  upon 
outward  circumstances.  I  have  no  doubt  that  moderate  wishes 
and  useful  employments  Nvill  diffuse  cheerfulness  in  the  lone- 
liest dwelling,  while  piety  will  people  it  with  guests  from 
heaven. 

**  Thus,  my  beloved  child,  I  l\ave  given  my  opinion  with  all  the 
freedom  you  can  desire.  I  have  written  a  volume  rather  than  a 
letter.  The  passion  for  giving  advice  long  survives  that  which 
is  the  subject  of  our  correspondence  ;  but  to  shew  you  that  I  can 
lay  some  restraint  on  an  old  woman's  rage  for  admonition,  I  will 
not  add  another  line,  except  that  which  assures  you  that  I  am,  with 
all  a  mother's  love,  and  all  a  friend's  esteem. 

Your  affectionate 

E,  Douglas." 

JLaura  read  this  letter  often,  and  pondered  it  deeply.  Though 
she  could  not  deny  that  it  contained  some  truths,  she  was  not  sa- 
tisfied with  the  doctrine  deduced  from  them.  She  remembered 
that  Mrs  Douglas  was  the  most  affectionate  of  wives  ;  and  con- 
cluded that  in  one  solitary  instance  her  judgment  had  been  at  va- 
riance with  her  practice  ;  and  that,  having  herself  made  a  mar- 
riage of  love,  she  was  not  an  adequate  judge  of  the  disadvantages 
attending  a  more  dispassionate  connexion.  Some  passages  too 
she  could  well  have  spared  ;  but  as  these  were  prophetic  rather 
than  monitory,  they  required  little  consideration  ;  and  after  the 
second  reading,  Laura  generally  omitted  them  in  the  perusal  of 
her  friend's  epistle.  Upon  the  whole,  however,  it  gave  her  plea- 
sure. Her  coascienc«  was  relieved  by  oJ>taining  the  sanction  of  Mrs. 


113 

Bouglas  to  her  promised  intimacy  with  De  Courcy,  and  al- 
ready she  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  it  should  be  re- 
jiewed. 

Since  her  arrival  in  town,  her  aunt,  all  kindness  and  com- 
placency, had  scarcely  named  Hargrave  ;  and,  with  the  sanguine 
temper  of  youth,  Laura  hoped  that  she  had  at  last  exhausted  the 
perseverance  of  her  persecutors.  This  fruitful  source  of  strife 
removed,  she  thought  she  could  without  much  difficulty  submi^i. 
to  the  casual  fits  of  caprice  to  which  Lady  Pelham  ^vas  subject . 
and  considering  that  her  aunt,  with  all  her  faults,  was  still  lie'- 
most  natural  protector,  and  her  house  her  most  proper  abode, 
she  began  to  lay  aside  thoughts  of  removing  immediately  to 
Scotland,  and  to  look  towards  Walboume  as  her  permanent 
home. 

In  the  mean  time  she  promised  herself  that  the  approaching^ 
winter  would  bring  her  both  amusement  and  information  The 
capital,  with  all  its  wonders,  of  which  she  had  hitherto  seen  lit- 
tle, the  endless  diversity  of  character  which  she  expected  its  in* 
habitants  to  exhibit,  the  conversation  of  the  literary  and  the  elc- 
gant,  of  wits,  senators,  and  statesmen,  promised  an  inexhausti- 
ble fund  of  instruction  and  delight.  Nay,  the  patriotic  heart  of 
Laura  beat  high  with  the  hope  of  meeting  some  of  tliosc  he- 
roes  who,  un<£iunted  by  disaster,  where  all  but  honour  is  lost, 
maintain  the  honour  of  Britain,  or  who,  with  happier  for- 
tune, guide  the  triumphant  navies  of  our  iiiiLive  land.  She 
was  yet  to  learn  how  little  of  character  appears  through  the 
varnish  of  fashionable  manners,  and  how  little  a  hero  or  a 
statesman  at  a  rout  differs  from  a  |&ere  Hian  of  fashion  in  the 
same  situation. 

Lady  Pelham  seemed  inelined  to  fiimish  her  with  all  the  oppor- 
tunities of  observation  which  she  could  desire,  iritroducing  her  to 
every  visitor  of  distinction,  and  procuring  for  her  the  particular 
attention  of  two  ladies  of  high  rank,  who  constantly  invited  her  to 
share  in  the  gaieties  of  the  season.  But  Laura,  instructed  in  the 
value  of  time,  and  feeling  herself  accountable  for  its  employment, 
stopped  far  short  of  the  dissipation  of  her  companions.  She  had 
long  since  established  a  criterion  by  which  to  judge  oftheinno-^ 
cence  of  her  pleasures,  accounting  every  amusement,  from  which 
she  returned  to  her  duties  with  an  exhaOsted  frame,  languid  spirits, 
or  distracted  attention,  to  be  at  best  dangerous,  and  contrary  to  all 
rational  ends  of  recreation*  Of  entertainments  which  she  had  ne- 
ver before  witnessed,  curiosity  generally  indiv-ed  her  for  once  to 
partake  ;  but  she  found  few  that  could  stand  her  test ;  and  to  those 
which  failed  in  the  trial,  she  returned  as  seldom  as  possible. 

One  species  alone,  if  it  deserves  to  be  classed  with  entertain- 
ments, she  was  unwillingly  obliged  to  except  from  her  rule  From 
card  parties  Laura  always  returned  fatigued  both  in  mind  and 
body  ;  while  present  at  them  she  had  scaiceU  any  other  wish  th -n 
to  escape  ;  and  she  quitted  them  unfit  for  anything  but  rest,  Li.<  y 
Pelham,  however,  sometimes  made  it  a  point  that  her  niece  should 

K  2 


114 

iccompany  her  to  these  parties ;  and,  though  she  never  asked 
iaiira  to  play,  was  occasionally  at  pains  to  interest  her  in  the  game, 
by  calling  her  to  her  side,  appealing  to  her  against  ill-fortune,  or 
exacting  her  congratulation  in  success.  A  few  of  these  parties 
excepted,  Laura's  time  passed  pleasantly.  Though  the  calm  ofher 
aunt's  temper  was  now  and  then  disturbed  by  short  gusts  of  anger, 
it  returned  as  lightly  as  it  fled  ;  and  the  subject,  fertile  in  endless 
chiding,  seemed  almost  forgotten. 

A  fortnight  had  passed  in  this  sort  of  quiet,  when  one  morning 
Lady  Pelham  proposed  to  carry  Laura  to  see  the  Marquis  of  — — 's 
superb  collection  of  pictures.  Laura,  obliged  by  her  aunt's  atten- 
tion to  her  prevailing  taste,  eagerly  accepted  the  proposal,  and 
hastened  to  equip  herself  for  the  excursion.  Light  of  heart,  she 
was  returning  to  the  drawing  room  to  wait  till  the  carriage  drew 
up,  when,  on  entering,  the  first  object  she  beheld  was  Colonel  Har- 
grave,  seated  confidentially  by  the  side  of  Lady  Pelham. 

l^aura,  turning  sick  with  vexation,  shrunk  back  ;  and,  bewailing 
ihc  departure  of  her  short-lived  quiet,  returned,  half  angry,  half 
sorrowful,  to  her  own  room  She  had  little  time,  however,  to  in- 
dulge her  chagrin,  for  Lady  Pelham  almost  immediately  sent  to  let 
her  know  that  the  carriage  waited.  Disconcerted,  and  almost  out 
of  liumour,  Laura  had  tossed  aside  her  bonnet,  and  was  about  to 
retract  her  consent  to  go,  when,  recollecting  that  the  plan  had 
been  proposed  on  her  account,  without  any  apparent  motive  unless 
to  oblige  her,  she  thought  her  aunt  would  have  just  reason  to 
complain  of  such  an  ungracious  rejection  of  her  civility. 

**  IJesides,  it  is  like  a  spoiled  child,"  thought  she,  "  to  quarrel 
with  my  amusement,  becanse  one  disagreeable  circumstance  at- 
tends it;"  and,  readjusting  her  bonnet,  she  joined  Lady  Pelham, 
not  wilhout  a  secret  hope  that  Ilargrave  might  not  be  of  the  party. 
The  hope  deceived  her.  He  was  ready  to  hand  her  into  the  car- 
riage, and  to  take  his  seat  by  her  side. 

Her  sanguine  expectations  thus  put  to  flight,  the  habitual  com- 
placency of  Laura's  countenance  suffered  a  sudden  eclipse.  She 
answered  almost  peevishly  to  Hargrave's  inquiries  for  her  health:; 
and  so  complete  was  her  vexation,  that  it  was  long  ere  she  observ* 
cd  how  much  his  maimer  towards  her  was  changed.  He  whispered 
no  extravagancies  in  her  ear  ;  offered  her  no  officious  attentions  ; 
and  seized  no  opportunities  of  addressing  her,  but  such  as  were 
c<^)nsistcnt  with  politeness  and  respect,  lie  divided  his  assiduities 
not  unequally  between  her  and  Lady  Pelham ;  and  even  without 
any  apparent  reluc!.unce,  permitted  a  genteel  young  man,  to  whom 
the  ladies  curtsied  in  passing,  to  sliare  in  his  office  of  escort,  and 
almost  to  monopolize  Laura's  conversation.  Having  accompanied 
the  ladies  home,  he  left  them  immediately,  refusing  Lady  Pelham's 
invitation  to  dinner  ;  and  Lama,  no  less  pleased  than  surprised  at 
this  unexpected  turn,  wished  him  good  morning  more  graciously 
than  she  had  of  late  spoken  to  him. 

The  next  day  he  dined  in  Grosvenor  Street,  and  the  same  pro- 
priety of  manner  continued..    The  following  eyeoing  Laura  again 


115 

met  with  him  in  a  large  party.  He  did  not  distinguish  her  parti- 
cularly  from  any  of  her  fair  competitors.  Laura  was  delighted. 
She  was  convinced  that  he  had  at  last  resolved  to  abandon  his 
fruitless  pursuit ;  but  what  had  so  suddenly  wrought  this  happy 
change,  she  could  not  divine* 

He  did  not  visit  Lady  Pelham  daily,  yet  it  so  happened  that  Lau- 
ra saw  him  every  day,  and  still  he  was  consistent.  Laura  scarcely 
doubted,  yet  durst  scarcely  trust  her  good  fortune. 

The  violent  passions  of  H.irgrave,  however,  in  some  degree  un- 
fitted him  for  a  deceiver  ;  and  sometimes  the  fiery  glance  of  impa- 
tience, of  admiration,  or  of  jealousy,  belied  the  serenity  of  his  man- 
ner. Laura  did  not  fail  to  remark  this  ;  but  she  possessed  the  hap- 
py faculty  of  explaining  every  ambiguity  in  human  conduct,  in  a 
way  favourable  to  the  actor — a  faculty  which,  though  it  sometimes 
exposed  her  to  mistake  and  vexation,  was,  upon  the  whole,  at  once 
a  happiness  and  a  virtue.  She  concluded  that  Hargrave,  deter- 
mined to  persecute  her  no  further,  was  striving  to  overcome  his 
passion ;  that  the  appearance*  she  had  remarked  were  only  the 
struggles  which  he  could  not  wholly  repress ;  and  she  felt  herself 
grateful  to  him  for  making  the  attempt, — the  more  grateful  from 
her  idea  of  its  difficulty. 

WitJi  her  natural  singleness  of  heart,  she  one  day  mentioned  to 
Lady  Pelham  the  change  in  Hargrave's  behaviour.  "  I  suppose," 
added  she,  smiling,  "  that,  finding  he  can  make  nothing  more  of 
me,  he  is  resolved  to  lay  me  under  obligation  by  leaving  me  at 
peace,  having  first  contrived  to  make  me  sensible  of  its  full  value" 
Lady  Pelham  was  a  better  dissembler  than  Colonel  Hargrave  ;  and 
acarcely  did  a  change  of  colour  announce  the  deception,  while,  in 
atone  of  assumed  anger,  she  answered  by  reproaching  her  niece 
with  having  at  last  accomplished  her  purpose,  and  driven  her  lover 
to  dt  spair.  Yet  Lady  Pelham  was  aware  that  Hargrave  had  not  a 
tliought  of  relinquishing  his  pursuit.  His  new-found  self-command 
was  merely  intended  to  throw  Laura  off" her  guard,  that  Lady  Pel- 
ham might  have  an  opportunity  of  executing  a  scheme  which 
Lambert  had  contrived,  to  entangle  Laura  beyond  the  possibility 
of  escape. 

Many  an  action,  harmless  in  itself,  is  seen,  by  a  discerning  by- 
stander, to  have  in  it  *  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed, 
though  no  teeth  for  the  present*  It  happened  that  Lambert,  while 
at  VValbourne,  had  once  seen  Laura  engaged  in  a  party  at  chess  ; 
And  her  bent  brow  and  flushed  cheek,  her  palpitating  boson/,  her 
trembling  hand,  her  eagerness  for  victory,  above  all,  her  pleasure 
in  success,  restrained  but  not  concealed,  inspired  him  with  an  idea 
that  play  might  be  made  subservient  to  the  designs  of  his  friend  ; 
designs  which  he  was*  the  more  disposed  to  promote,  because,  for 
the  present,  they  occupied  Hargrave  to  the  exclusion  of  that  folly 
of  which  Lambert  had  so  well  availed  himself. 

It  was  Lambert's  proposal  that  he  should  himself  engage  Laura 
in  play,  and  having  won  from  her,  by  means  which  he  could  always 
command,  that  he  should  transfer  the  debt  to  Hargrave.    The 


116 

scheme  was  seconded  by  Lady  Pelham,  and,  in  part,  acquiesced  iu 
by  Hargrave.  Butihoug-hhe  could  consent  to  degrade  the  woman 
whom  he  intended  for  his  wife,  he  could  not  endure  that  any  other 
than  himself  should  be  the  instrument  of  her  degradation;  and, 
sickening  at  the  s!  -.icklcs  which  the  love  of  gaming-  had  imposed 
upon  himself,  he  positively  refused  to  accede  to  that  part  of  the 
plan,  which  proposed  to  make  Laura's  entanglement  with  him  the 
branch  of  a  habit  previously  formed.  Besides,  the  formation  of  a 
habit,  especially  one  so  contrary  to  previous  bias,  was  a  work  of 
time  ;  and  a  stratagem  of  tedious  execution  did  not  suit  the  im- 
patience of  Hargrave's  temper.  He  consented,  however,  to  adopt 
H  more  summary  modification  of  the  same  artifice.  It  was  intend- 
ed that  Laura  should  at  first  be  induced  to  play  for  a  stake  too 
small  to  alarm  her,  yet  sufficiently  great  to  make  success  desira- 
ble ;  that  she  should  at  first  be  allowed  to  win  ;  that  the  stake 
should  be  increased  until  she  should  lose  a  sum  which  it  might  in- 
commode her  to  pan  with  ;  and  then  that  the  stale  cheat  of  gam- 
blers, hope  of  retiieving  her  loss, -should  be  pressed  on  her  as  a 
motive  for  venturing  nearer  to  destruction. 

The  chief  obstacle  to  the  execution  of  this  hSnourable  enterprise 
lay  in  the  first  step,  the  difficulty  of  persuading  Lanra  to  play  for 
any  sum  which  coidd  be  at  all  important  to  her  For  obviating 
this,  Lady  Pelham  trusted  to  the  diffidence,  the  extreme  timidity, 
the  abhorrence  of  notoriety,  which  nature,  strengthened  by  educa- 
tion, had  made  a  leading  feature  in  the  cliaracter  of  Laura.  Her 
ladysi.ip  determined  that  the  first  essay  should  be  made  in  a  large 
company,  in  the  presence  of  persons  of  rank,  of  fame,  of  talent,  of 
every  qualification  which  could  augment  the  awe  almost  amounting 
to  hoiTor,  with  which  Laura  shrunk  from  the  g-aze  ot  numbers. 

Partly  from  a  craving  for  a  confidant,  partly  in  hope  of  securing 
assistance.  Lady  Pelham  communicated  her  intention  to  the  honor- 
able Mrs.  Clermont,  a  dashing  widow  of  five -and -thirty.  The 
piercing  black  eyes,  the  loud  voice,  the  free  manner,  and  good  hu- 
moured assurance  of  this  lady,  had  inspired  Laura  with  a  kind  of 
dread,  whicli  had  not  yielded  to  the  advances  which  the  widow 
condescended  to  make  Lady  Pelham  judged  it  most  favoura- 
ble to  her  righteous  purpose,  that  the  first  attempt  should  be  made 
in  the  house  of  Mrs  Clermont,  rather  than  in  her  own  ;  both  be- 
cause tliat  lady's  higher  circle  of  acquaintance  could  command  a 
more  imposing  assemblage  of  visitors  :  and  because  this  arrange- 
ment would  leave  her  bdysh  p  more  at  liberty  to  watch  the  suc- 
cess of  her  scheme,  than  she  could  be  where  she  was  necessarily 
occupied  as  mistress  of  the  ceremonies. 

The  appointed  evening  came,  and  Lady  Pelham,  though  with  the 
utmost  kindness  of  manner,  insisted  upon  Laura's  attendance. 
Laura  would  rather  have  been  excused;  yet,  noi  to  interrupt  a 
humour  so  harmonious,  she  consented  to  go.  Lady  Pelham  was 
all  complacenc).  blie  condescended  to  preside  at  her  neice's  toi- 
lette, and  obliged  her  to  complete  her  dress  b>  wearing  for  that 
evening  a  superb  diamond  aigrette,  one  of  the  ornaments  of  her 


117 

own  earHer  years.  Laura  strenuously  resisted  this  addition  to  her 
attire,  accounting  it  wholly  unsuitable  to  her  situation  ;  but  her 
aunt  would  take  no  denial,  and  the  affair  was  not  wortliy  of  a  more 
serious  refusal.  This  important  concern  adjusted.  Lady  Pelham 
viewed  her  niece  with  triumphant  admiration.  She  burst  forth 
into  praises  of  her  beauty,  declaring",  tliat  she  liad  never  seen  her 
look  half  so  lovely.  Yet,  with  skilful  malice,  she  contrived  to 
awaken  Laura^s  natural  bashfulness,  by  saying",  as  they  were  alight- 
ing at  Mrs.  Clermont's  door,  "  Now  my  dear,  don't  mortify  me  to- 
night by  any  of  your  Scotch  garichcries.  Remember  every  eye  will 
be  turned  upon  you."  "  Heaven  forbid,"  thought  Laura,  and 
timidly  followed  her  aunt  to  a  couch  where  she  took  her  seat. 

For  a  while  Lady  Pelham's  words  seemed  prophetic,  and  Laura 
could  not  raise  her  eyes  without  meeting  the  gaze  of  admiration  or 
of  scrutiny ;  but  tlie  rooms  began  to  be  crowded  by  the  great  and 
the  gay,  and  Laura  was  relieved  from  her'vexatious  distinction- 
Lady  Pelham  did  not  long  sufier  her  to  enjoy  her  release,  but 
rising,  proposed  that  they  should  walk.  Though  Laura  felt  in  her 
own  majestic  stature  a  very  unenviable  claim  to  notice,  a  claim 
rendered  more  conspicuous  by  the  contrast  offered  in  the  fig*ure  of 
her  companion,  she  could  not  with  politeness  refuse  to  accompany 
her  aunt,  and  giving  Lady  Pelham  her  arm,  they  began  their 
round. 

Laura,  little  acquainted  withfthe  ease  which  prevails  in  town 
parties,  coidd  not  help  wondering  at  the  nonchalence  of  Mrs.  Cler- 
mont, who,  leaving  her  guests  to  entertain  themselves  as  they 
chose,  was  lounging  on  a  sofa  playing  picquet  with  Colonel  Har- 
grave.  "  Mrs.  Clermont  at  picquet,"  said  Lady  Pelham.  "  Come 
Laura,  picquet  is  the  only  civilized  kind  of  game  you  play.  You 
shall  take  a  lesson ;"  and  she  led  her  niece  forwards  through  a  cir- 
cle of  misses,  who,  in  hopes  of  catching  the  attention  of  the  hapd- 
some  Colonel  Hargrave,  were  tittering  and  talking  nonsense  m.ost 
laboriously.  This  action  naturally  drew  the  eyes  ft"  all  upon  Laura, 
and  Lady  Pelham,  who  expected  to  find  useful  engines  in  her 
timidity  and  embarrassment,  did  not  fail  to  make  her  remark  the 
notice  which  she  excited.  From  this  notice  Laura  would  have 
escaped,  by  seating  herself  near  Mrs.  Clermont;  but  Lady  Pelham 
perceiving  her  intention,  placed  herself  without  ceremony,  so  as  to 
occupy  the  only  remaining  seats,  leaving  Laura  standing  alone, 
shrinking  at  the  consciousness  of  her  conspicuous  situation.  No 
one  was  near  her  to  whom  she  could  address  herself,  and  her  only 
resource  was  bending  down  to  overlook  Mrs.  Clermont's  game. 

She  had  kept  her  station  long  enough  to  be  fully  sensible  of  its 
awkwardness,  when  Mrs.  Clermont,  suddenly  starting  up,  exclaim- 
ed, "  Bless  me !  I  had  quite  forgotten  tliat  I  promised  to  make  a 
loo-table  for  the  dutchess.  Do,  my  deai*  Miss  Montreville,  take 
my  hand  for  half  an  hour."  **  Excuse  me,  madam,"  said  Laura, 
drawing  back,  "  I  play  so  ill."  "  Nay,  Laura,"  interrupte<i  Lady 
Pelham,  "  your  teacher  is  concerned  to  maintain  your  skill,  ^nd  I 
insist  on  it  that  you  play  admii-ably."     "  Had  not  your  ladyshir* 


118 

better  play  r"  "  Oh  no,  my  dear;  I  join  the  loo-table."  "  Come/* 
said  Mrs,  Clermont,  offering  Laura  the  seat  she  had  just  quitted, 
**  I  will  take  no  excuse  ;  so  sit  down,  and  success  attend  you  !'* 
The  seat  presented  Laura  with  an  inviting  opportunity  of  turning 
her  back  upon  her  inspectors,  she  was  averse  from  refusing  a 
trifling  request,  and  rather  willing  to  give  Hargrave  a  proof  that 
she  was  not  insensible  to  the  late  improvement  in  his  behaviour. 
She  therefore  quietly  took  the  place  assigned  her,  while  the  trio 
exchanged  smiles  of  congratulation  on  the  facility  with  which  she 
had  fallen  into  the  snare. 

Something,  however,  yet  remained  to  be  arranged,  and  Lady 
Pelham  and  her  hostess  still  kept  their  stations  by  her  side.  While 
dividing  the  cards,  Laura  recollected  having  observed  that,  in 
town,  every  game  seemed  played  for  money  ;  and  she  asked  her 
antagonist  what  was  to  be  the  stake.  He  of  course  referred  that 
point  to  her  own  decision ;  but  Laura,  in  profound  ignorance  of 
the  arcana  of  card-tables,  blushed,  hesitated,  and  looked  at  Lady 
Pelham  and  Mrs.  Clermont  for  instructions.  "  We  don't  play  high 
in  this  house,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cleinmont,  "  Colonel  Hargrave 
and  I  were  only  playing  guineas."  "  Laura  is  only  a  beginner," 
said  Lady  Pelham,  "  and  perhaps  half  a  guinea" — Laura  inter- 
rupted her  aunt  by  rising  and  deliberately  collecting  the  cards. 
"  Colonel  Hai'grave  will  excuse  me,"  said  she,  "  That  is  far  too 
great  a  stake  for  me."  **  Don't  be  absurd,*'  my  dear,"  said  Lady 
Pelham,  touching  Laura's  sleeve,  and  affecting  to  whisper,  "  why- 
should  not  you  play  as  other  people  do  ?"  Laura  not  thinking  this 
a  proper  time  to  explain  her  conscientious  scruples,  merely  an- 
swered, that  she  could  not  afford  it;  and,  more  embarrassed  than 
before,  would  have  glided  away,  but  neither  of  her  guards  would 
permit  her  to  pass.  "  You  need  not  mind  what  you  stake  with 
Hargrave,"  said  Lady  Pelham  apart,  **  you  play  so  much  better 
than  he  tluit  you  will  infallibly  win."  "  That  does  not  at  all  alter 
the  case,"  returned  Laura.  "  It  would  be  as  unpleasant  to  meto 
win  Colonel  Hargrave's  money  as  to  lose  my  own  "  '*  Whatever 
stake  Vliss  Montreville  chooses  must  be  equally  agreeable  to  me," 
said  Colont  1  llurgrave;  but  Lauia  observed  that  the  smile  which 
accorai^anied  these  words  had  in  it  m<u'e  of  sarcasm  than  of  coin, 
placency.  "  I  should  be  sorry.  Sir,"  said  she,  "  that  you  lowered 
your  play  upon  my  account  Perhaps  some  of  these  young  ladies," 
continaed  she,  looking  round  to  the  talkative  circle  behind — *'  Be 
quiet,  Laura,"  interrupted  Lady  Pelham,  again  in  an  under  tone, 
**  you  will  make  yourself  the  town-talk  with  your  fooleries,"  "  I 
hope  not,"  returned  Laura,  calmly;  "  but  if  I  do,  there  is  no  lielp; 
little  inconveniences  must  be  submitted  to  for  the  sake  of  doing 
right."  **  Lord,  Miss  Montreville,"  cried  Mrs.  Clermont  aloud, 
"  What  odd  notions  you  have  !  Who  would  mind  playing  for  half 
a  guinea  ?  It  is  nothing ;  absolutely  nothing.  It  would  not  buy  a 
pocket  handkerchief"  It  would  buy  a  week's  food  f^r  a  poor  fa- 
mily^thought  Laura;  and  she  was  confirmed  in  her  resolution  ;  but 
not  w'illmg  to  expose  this  reason  to  ridicule,  and  a  little  displeased 


that  Mrs.  ClermoBt  should  take  the  liberty  of  urging  her,  she 
coolly,  yet  modestly  replied,  "That  such  matters  roust  greatly 
depend  on  the  opinions  and  circumstances  of  the  parties  concern- 
ed, of  which  they  were  themselves  the  best  judg-es."     "  I  insist  on 
j'our  playing,'*  said  Lady  Pelham,  in  an  angry  half-whisper.     **  If 
you  will'make  yourself  ridiculous,  let  it  be  when  I  am  not  by  to 
share  in  the  ridicule."     "  Excuse  me.  Madam,  for  to-night,,"  re- 
turned Laura,  pleadhigly.     "  Before  another  evening  I  will  give 
you  reasons  which  I  am  sure  will  satisfy  you."     "  I  am  sure,"  said 
Hargrave,  darting  a  very  significant  look  towards  Laura,  **  if  Miss 
Montreville,  instead  of  cards,  prefer  allowing  me  to  attend  her  in 
your  absence,  I  shall  gain  infinitely  by  the  exchange."     liaura, 
to  whom  his  glance  made  this  hint  ^ery  intelligible,  reddened ; 
and,  saying  she  would  by  no  means  interrupt  his  amusement,  was 
again  turning  to  seek  a  substitute  among  her  titterring  neighbours, 
when  Mrs.  Clermont  prevented  her,  by  calling  out  to  a  lady  at  a 
considerable  distance,  "  My  dear  dutchess,  do  have  the  goodness 
to  come  hither,  and  talk  to  this  whimsical  beauty  of  ours.     She  is 
seized  with  an  economical  fit,  and  has  taken  it  into  her  pretty  little 
head  that  I  am  quite  a  gambler  because  I  fix  her  stake  at  half  a 
guinea."     "  What  may  not  youth  and  beauty  do  ?"  said  her  grace, 
looking  at  Laura  with  a  smile,  half  sly,  half  insinuating.     *'  When 
I  was  the  Miss  Montreville  of  my  day,  I  too  might  have  led  the 
fashion  of  playing  for  pence,  though  now  I  dare  not  venture  even  to 
countenance  it."     The  mere  circumstance  of  rank  could  never  dis- 
compose Laura;  andrather  taking  encouragement  from  the  charm- 
ing, though  faded  countenance  of  the  speaker,  she  replied,  *'  But 
in  consideration  of  having  no  pretensions  to  lead  the  fashion,  may 
I  not  claim  exemption  from  following  it  ?"     *'  Oh,  by  no  means,** 
said  her  grace.     "When  once  you  have  entered  the  world  of  fa- 
shion, you  must  either  be  the  daring  leader  or  the  humble  follower. 
If  you  choose  the  first,  you  must  defy  the  opinions  of  all  other 
people;  and,  if  the  last,  you  must  have  a  suitable  indifference  for 
your  own."     "  A  gentle  intimation,**  returned  Laura,  "  that  in  the 
world  of  fashion,  I  am  quite  out  of  place,  since  nothing  but  my 
own  opinion  is  more  awful  to  me  than  that  of  others."     **  Miss 
IVfontreville,*'  said  Lady  Pelham,  with  an  aspect  of  vinegar,  •*  we 
all  wait  your  pleasure."     *'  Pray,  Madam,'*  answered  Laura,  **do 
not  let  me  detain  you  a  moment ;  I  shall  easily  dispose  of  myself." 
*'  Take  up  your  cards  this  instant,  and  let  us  have  no  more  of  these 
airs,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  now  without  affectation  whispering,  in 
order  to  conceal  from  her  elegant  companions  the  wrath  which  was, 
however,  distinctly  written  in  her  countenance. 

It  now  occurred  to  Laura  as  strange,  that  so  much  trouble 
should  be  taken  to  prevail  upon  her  to  play  for  more  than  she  in- 
clined. Hargrave,  though  he  had  pretended  to  release  her,  still 
kept  his  seat,  and  his  language  had  tended  rather  to  embarrass 
than  relieve  her.  Mrs.  Clermont  had  interfered  further  than  Laura 
thoug-ht  either  necessary  or  proper;  and  Lady  Pelham  was  ea|>er 
to  carry  her  point.     Laura  saw  that  iher^:  was  something  in  all  this 


.#' 


120 


wkich  she  did  not  comprehend}  and,  looking  up  to  seek  an  ex 
planation  in  the  faces  of  her  companions,  she  perceived  that  the 
whole  trio  seemed  waiting  her  decision  witli  looks  of  various  in- 
terest. The  piercing  black  eyes  of  Mrs.  Clermont  were  fixed  upon 
her  with  an  expression  of  sly  curiosity.  Hargrave  hastily  with- 
drew a  sidelong  glance  of  anxious  expectation ;  while  Lady  Pel- 
ham's  face  was  flushed  with  angry  impatience  of  delay.  ••  Has 
your  ladyship  any  particular  reason  for  wishing  that  I  should  play 
for  a  higher  stake  than  I  think  right  ?**  said  Laura,  fixing  on  her 
aunt  a  look  of  calm  scrutiny.  Too  much  out  of  humour  to  be  com- 
pletely on  her  guard,  Lady  Pelham's  colour  deepened  several 
shades,  while  she  answered,  **  I,  child  !  what  should  make  you 
think  so  ?"  "  I  don't  know,"  said  Laura.  "  People  sometimes  try 
to  convince  from  mere  love  of  victory;  but  they  seldom  take  the  j 
trouble  to  persuade  without  some  other  motive.**  "  Any  friend,**  J 
said  Lady  Pelham,  recollecting  herself,  "  would  find  motive  enough  1 
for  what  I  have  done,  in  the  absurd  appearance  of  these  littlenesses 
to  the  world,  and  the  odium  that  deservedly  falls  on  a  young  mi- 
ser." ••  Nay,  Lady  Pelham,"  said  the  dutchess,  "  this  is  far  too 
severe.  Come,"  added  she,  beckoning  to  Laura  with  a  gracious 
smile,  •*  you  shall  sit  by  me,  that  I  may  endeavour  to  enlarge  your 
conceptions  on  the  subject  of  card-playing." 

Laura,  thus  encouraged,  instantly  begged  her  aunt's  permission 
to  pass.  Lady  Pelham  could  not  decently  refuse  ;  and,  venting 
her  rage,  by  pinching  Laura's  arm  till  the  blood  came,  and  mut- 
tering, through  her  clenched  teeth,  "  obstinate  \vretch,"  she  suf- 
fered her  niece  to  escape.  Laura  did  not  condescend  to  bestow 
any  notice  upon  this  assault,  but,  pulling  her  glove  over  her  wound- 
ed arm,  took  refuge  beside  the  dutchess.  The  fascinating  manners 
of  a  high-bred  woman  of  fashion,  and  the  respectful  attentions  of- 
fered to  her  whom  the  dutchess  distinguished  by  her  particular 
countenance,  made  the  rest  of  the  evening  pass  agreeably,  in  spite 
of  the  evident  ill  humour  of  Lady  Pelham.  Her  ladyship  restrain- 
ed the  further  expression  of  her  rage  till  Laura  and  she  were  on 
their  way  home  ;  when  it  burst  out  in  reproaches  of  the  parsimony, 
obstinacy,  and  perverseness  which  had  appeared  in  her  niece's  re- 
fusal to  play.  Laura  listened  to  her  in  silence  ;  sensible,  that  while 
Lady  Pelham' s  passion  overpowered  the  voice  of  her  own  reason, 
it  was  vain  to  expect  that  she  should  hear  reason  from  another . 
But,  next  day,  when  she  judged  tliat  her  aunt  had  had  time  to  grow 
cool,  she  took  occasion  to  resume  the  subject ;  and  explained  wItJi 
such  firmness  and  precision,  her  principles  in  regard  to  the  uses 
of  money,  and  the  accountableness  of  its  possessors,  that  Lady 
Pelham  laid  aside  thoughts  of  entangling  her  by  means  of  play  ; 
since  it  was  vain  to  expect  that  she  would  commit  to  the  power  of 
chance  that  which  she  habitually  considered  as  the  sacred  deposit 
of  a  father,  and  spetjlaUy  destined  for  the  support  anii  comfort  '^  ■" 
hrs  children. 


121 


CHAPTER  XXJX. 

HAftGRAVE  no  sooner  perceived  the  futility  of  his  design  to  in- 
volve Lauia  in  a  debt  of  honour,  than  he  laid  aside  the  disg-uise 
vhicli  had  been  assumed  to  lull  her  vigilance,  and  which  he  had 
never  worn  without  difficulty.  He  condescended,  however,  to  save 
appearances,  by  taking  advantage  of  the  idea  which  Laura  had  her- 
self suggested  to  Lady  Pelliam,  and  averred  that  he  had  made  a 
powerful  eftoit  to  recover  his  self-possession  ;  but  he  declared 
that,  having  totally  failed  in  his  endeavours  to  obtain  his  liberty, 
he  was  determined  never  to  renew  them,  a»id  would  trust  to  time 
and  accident  for  removing  Laura's  prejudice.  h\  vain  did  she  as- 
sure him  that  no  time  could  produce  such  a  revolution  in  her 
sentiments  as  would  at  all  avail  him ;  that  though  his  eminent 
improvement  in  worth  might  secure  her  esteem,  her  affections 
wei-e  alienated  beyond  recal.  The  old  system  was  resumed,  and 
with  greater  vigour  than  before,  bccimse  with  less  fear  of  obser- 
vation, and  more  frequent  opportunities  of  attack.  Every  meal, 
every  visit,  every  public  place,  furnished  occasions  for  his  inde- 
fatigable assiduities,  from  wh»ch  Laura  found  no  refuge  beyond 
the  precincts  of  her  own  chamber 

Regardless  of  the  vexation  which  such  a  report  might  give  her, 
he  chose  to  make  his  suit  the  subject  of  the  tittle-tattle  of  the  day. 
By  this  manosuvre,  in  which  he  had  before  found  his  advantage, 
l»e  lioped  that  several  purposes  might  be  served.  The  publicity 
of  his  claim  woidd  keep  other  pretenders  at  a  distance  ;  it  would 
oblige  those  who  mentioned  him  to  Laura  to  speak,  if  not  favoiira- 
bl\,  at  least  witii  decent  caution  ;  and  it  might  possibly  at  last  in- 
duce her  to  listen  with  less  reluctance  to  wliat  every  one  spoke  of 
as  natural  and  probable.  Lady  Pelham  seconded  his  intentions, 
by  hints  of  her  niece's  engagement,  and  confidential  complaints  to 
her  friends  of  the  mauvaise  honte  which  made  Laura  treat  with 
such  reserve  tlie  man  to  whom  she  had  been  so  long  affianced. 
The  consequence  of  their  manocuvreing  was,  that  IIargra\e's  right 
to  persecute  Laura  seemed  universally  acknowledged.  The  men 
at  his  approach,  left  her  free  to  his  attendance  ;  the  women  en- 
tertained her  with  praises  of  his  person,  manners,  and  equipage; 
with  hints  of  her  situation  too  gentle  to  warrant  direct  contradic- 
tion ;  or  charges  made  with  conviction  too  strong  to  yield  any  form 
of  denial. 

Lady  Pelham,  too,  resumed  her  unwearied  remonstrances,  and 
teazed,  chided,  argued,  upbraided,  entreated,  and  scolded,  through 
every  tedious  hour  in  which  the  absence  of  visitors  left  Laura  at 
her  mercy.  Laura  had  at  one  time  determined  against  submitting 
to  such  treatment,  and  had  resolved,  that  if  it  were  renewed,  she 
would  seek  a  refuge  far  from  her  persecutors,  and  from  England. 
But  that  resolution  had'  been  formed  when  there  appeared  no  im- 
mediate necessity  for  putting  it  in  practice  ;  and  England  contain- 
ed somewhat  to  whi^h  Laura  clung  almost  unconsciously.    Amidst 


122 

all  her  vexations,  Mrs.  De  Courcy's  letters  soothed  her  ruffled  spi- 
rits; and  more  than  once,  when  she  had  renewed  her  determination 
to  quit  Lady  Pelham,  a  few  lines  from  Norwood  made  her  pause  ou 
its  tulfdment,  reminding-  her  that  a  few  months,  however  unplea- 
sant, would  soon  steal  away,  and  that  her  return  to  the  country 
would  at  least  bring-  some  mitigation  of  her  persecutions. 

Though  Mrs.  Dc  Courcy  wrote  often,  and  confidentially,  she 
never  mentioned  Montague  further  than  was  necessary  to  avoid 
particularity.  She  said  little  of  his  health,  nothing  of  his  spirits  or 
occupations,  and  never  hinted  any  knowledge  of  his  rejected  love. 
Laura's  inquiries  concerning  him  were  answered  witli  vague  po- 
liteness ;  and  thus  her  interest  in  the  state  of  his  mind  was  con- 
stantly kept  awake.  Often  did  she  repeat  to  herself,  that  she  hoped 
he  would  soon  learn  to  consider  her  merely  as  a  friend  ;  and  that 
which  we  have  often  repeated  as  truth,  we  in  time  believe  to  be 
true. 

Laura  had  been  in  town  about  a  month,  when  one  of  her  letters 
to  Norwood  was  followed  by  a  longer  silence  than  usual.  She 
wrote  again,  and  still  the  answer  was  delayed.  Fearing  that  ill- 
ness had  prevented  Mrs.  De  Courcy  from  writing,  Laura  had  en- 
dured some  days  of  serious  anxiety,  when  a  letter  was  brought 
her,  addressed  in  Montague's  hand.  She  hastily  tore  it  open,  and 
her  heart  fluttered  between  pleasure  and  apprehension,  when  she 
perceived  that  the  whole  letter  was  written  by  him-  It  was  short  and 
cautious.  He  apologized  for  the  liberty  he  took,  by  saying,  that  a 
rheumatic  affection  having  prevented  his  mother  from  using-  her 
pen,  she  had  employed  him  as  her  secretary,  fearing  to  alarm 
Laura  by  longer  silence.  The  letter  throughout  was  that  of  a  kind, 
yet  respectful  friend.  Not  a  word  betrayed  the  lover.  The  ex- 
pressions of  tender  interest  and  remembrance  with  which  it 
abounded,  were  ascribed  to  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  or  at  least  shared 
with  her,  in  a  manner  whicli  prevented  any  embarrassment  in  the 
reply.  Laura  hesittited  for  a  moment,  whether  her  answer  should 
be  addressed  to  Mrs.  De  Courcy  or  to  Montague  ;  but  Montague 
was  her  benefactor,  their  intimacy  was  sanctioned  by  her  best 
friend,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  how  the  question  was  de- 
cided. Her  answer  produced  a  reply,  which  again  was  replied  to 
in  its  turn  ;  and  thus  a  correspondence  was  established,  which, 
thoug-h  at  first  constrained  and  formal,  was  taught  by  Montague's 
prudent  forbearance,  to  assume  a  character  of  friendly  ease. 

This  correspondence,  which  soon  formed  one  of  Laura's  chief 
pleasures,  she  never  affected  to  conceal  from  Lady  Pelham.  On 
the  contrary,  she  spoke  of  it  with  perfect  openness  and  candour. 
Unfortunately,  however,  it  did  not  meet  with  her  ladyship's  ap- 
probation. She  judged  it  highly  unfavourable  to  her  designs  in 
regard  to  Hargrave.  She  imagined,  that  if  not  already  an  affair 
of  love,  it  was  likely  soon  to  become  so  ;  and  she  believed  that,  at 
all  events,  Laura's  intercourse  with  the  D«  Courcys  would  foster 
those  antiquated  notions  of  morality  to  which  Hargrave  owed  his 
ill  success.    Accordingly,  she  first  objected  to  Laura's  new  cor- 


123 

reapontlence  ;  then  lectured  on  its  impropriety  and  imprudence  ; 
and,  lastly,  took  upon  her  peremptorily  to  prohibit  its  continuance. 
Those  who  are  already  irritated  by?oppression,  a  trifle  will  at  last 
rouse  to  resistance  This  was  an  exercise  ot"  authority  so  far  be- 
yond Laura's  expectations,  that  it  awakened  her  resolution  to  sub- 
mit no  longer  to  the  importunity  and  persecution  which  she  had  so 
long  endured,  but  to  depart  immediately  for  Scotland.  Willing-, 
however,  to  execute  her  purpose  with  as  little  expense  of  peace 
as  possible,  she  did  not  open  her  intentions  at  the  moment  of  irri- 
tation.    She  waited  a  day  of  serenity  to  propose  her  departure. 

In  order  to  procure  the  means  of  defraying"  the  expense  of  her 
journey,  it  was  become  necessary  to  remind  Lady  Pelham  of  her 
loan,  winch  appeared  to  have  escaped  her  ladysliip's  recollec- 
tion. Laura,  accordingly,  one  day  gently  hinted  a  wish  to  be  re- 
paid. Lady  Iclham at  first  looked  surprised,  and  affected  to  have 
forgotten  the  whole  transaction;  but,  upon  being  very  distinctly 
reminded  of  the  particulars,  she  owned  that  she  recollected 
something  of  it,  and  carelessly  promised  to  settle  it  soon  ;  adding 
that  she  knew  Laura  had  no  use  for  the  money.  Laura  then  frank- 
ly announced  the  purpose  to  which  she  meant  to  apply  it  ;  saying-, 
that  as  her  aunt  v/as  now  surrounded  by  more  ag-i-eeable  society, 
she  hoped  she  might,  without  inconvenience,  be  spared,  and  would 
therefore  relieve  Lady  Pelham  of  her  charge,  by  paying  a  visit  to 
Mrs.  Douglas,  flagc  flamed  in  Lady  Pelham's  countenance,  wliile 
slie  burst  into  a  torrent  of  invective  against  her  niece's  ingrati- 
tude, and  coldness  of  heart ;  and  it  mingled  with  triumph  as  slie 
concluded  by  saying,—-*'  Do,  Miss  ;  by  all  means  go  to  your  pre- 
cious Scotland,  but  find  the  means  as  you  best  can^;  for  not  one 
penny  will  I  give  you  for  such  a  purpose.  1  have  long-  expected 
some  such  fine  freak  as  this,  butl  thought  I  should  di^ap]X)int  it.*' 
Not  daunted  by  this  inauspicious  beginning,  Laura,  taking  en- 
couragement from  her  aunt's  known  instability,  again  and  again 
renewed  the  subject  ;  but  Lady  Pelham's  purposes,  however  easi- 
ly shaken  by  accident  or  caprice,  were  ever  inflexible  to  entreat} . 
"  She  possessed,"  she  said,  *'  the  means  of  pi-eventing  her  niece's 
folly,  and  she  was  determined  to  employ  them."  Laura  burnt 
with  resentment  at  the  injustice  of  this  determination.  She  ac- 
knowledged no  right  which  Lady  Pelliam  possessed  to  detain  her 
against  her  own  consent,  and  she  considered  the  detention  of  her 
lawful  property  as  little  else  than  fraud.  But  jierceiving  that  re- 
monstrance was  useless,  she  judged  it  most  prudent  not  U;  em- 
bitter, by  vain  recriminations,  an  intercourse  from  winch  she 
could  not  immediately  escape.  Without  furtlre?!^ complaint  or 
upbraiding,  she  submitted  to  her  fate  ;  content  with  resolving  to 
employ  more  diircreetly  the  next  payment  of  her  annuity,  arid 
with  making  a  just  but  unavailing  ap{)cal  to  her  aunt's  gene'rosit}', 
by  as.serting  the  rigljt.  of  dtfcjicelessness  lo  protection.-  Ludy 
PcDiam  had  not  the  ^fejitest  idea  of  conceding  any  thing  to  this 
claim.  On  the  contrary,'  tl»e  certainty  that  Laura  could  not  with- 
drawfrom  licr  pov/cr,  c.icouraged  her  to  use  it  with  less  restrain'; 


124 

Fihe  invited  Hargrave  to  a  degree  of  familiarity  which  he  had  not 
before  assumed  ;  admitted  him  at  all  hours  ;  sanctioned  any  free- 
dom which  he  dared  to  use  with  Laura;  and  forced  or  inveigled 
her  into  frequent  tetda-tetes  with  him. 

Frettfed  beyond  her  patience,  Laura's  temper  more  than  once 
failed  under  this  treatment,  and  she  bitterly  reproached  Ilargrave 
as  the  source  of  all  her  vexation.  As  it  was,  however,  her  habi- 
tual Ptudy  to  convert  every  event  of  her  life  to  the  purposes  of  vir- 
tue, it  soon  occurred  to  her,  that,  during  these  compulsory  inter- 
views, she  might  become  the  instrument  of  awakening  her  unwor- 
thy lover  to  more  noble  pursuits.  Like  a  ray  of  light,  the  hope  of 
usefulness  darted  into  her  so»d,  shedding  a  cheering  beam  on  ob- 
jects which  before  were  dai  k  and  comfortless  ;  and,  with  all  the 
enthusiastic  warmth  of  her  character,  she  entered  on  her  volun- 
tary task  ;  forgetting,  in  her  eagerness  to  recal  a  sinner  from  the 
error  of  his  ways,  the  weariness,  disgust,  and  dread  with  which 
she  listened  to  the  ravings  of  selfish  passion.  She  no  longer  en- 
deavoured to  avoid  him,  no  longer  listened  to  him  with  frozen  si- 
lence  or  avowed  disdain.  During  their  interviews,  she  scarcely 
noticed  his  protestations,  but  employed  every  interval  in  urging 
him,  with  all  the  eloquence  of  dread,  to  retreat  from  the  gulf 
which  was  yawning  to  receive  him  ;  in  assuring  him,  with  all  the 
solemnity  of  truth,  that  the  waters  of  life  would  repay  him  a  thou- 
sand-fold for  the  poisoned  cup  of  pleasure.  Truth,  spoken  by  the 
loveliest  lips  in  the  world,  confirmed  by  the  lightnings  of  a  vvitch- 
ing  eye,  kindled  at  times  in  Hargrave  a  something  which  he  mis- 
took for  the  love  of  virtue.  He  declared  his  abhorrenee  of  his  for- 
mer self,  asserted  the  innocence  of  his  present  manner  of  life,  and 
vowed  that,  for  the  future,  he  should  be  blameless.  But  when 
Laura  rather  incautiously  urged  him  to  give  proof  of  his  reforma- 
tion, by  renouncing  a  passion  whose  least  gratifications  were  pur- 
chased at  the  expense  of  justice  and  humanity,  he  insisted  that 
she  required  more  than  nature  could  endure,  and  vehemently  pro- 
tested that  he  would  never,  but  with  life,  relinquish  the  hope  of 
possessing  her.  Her  remonstrances  had  however  one  effect,  of 
which  she  was  altogether  unconscious.  Hargrave  could  not  esti- 
mate the  force  of  those  motives  which  led  her  to  labour  so  earn- 
estly for  the  conversion  of  a  person  wholly  indifferent  to  her  ;  and 
though  she  often  assured  him  that  her  zeal^was  disinterested,  he 
cherished  a  hope  that  she  meant  to  reward  his  improvement.  In 
this  hope  he  relinqui.shed,  for  a  while,  the  schemes  which  he  had 
devised  against  the  unsuspecting  Laura,  till  accident  again  deci- 
ded him  against  trusting  to  her  free  consent  for  the  accomplish- 
mcMit  of  h's  wislies. 

Among  other  exercises  of  authority  to  which  Lady  Pelham  was 
emboldened  by  her  niece's  temporary  dependence  on  her  will,  slie 
adhered  to  her  former  prohibition  of  Laura's  correspondence  with 
I)e  Courcy.  Laui*a,  unwilling  to  make  i(|jkppear  a  matter  of  im- 
t>ortance,  promised  that  she  would  desist ;  but  said  that  she  must 
Hist  write  to  Mr.  De  Courcy  to  account  for  her  seeming  caprice. 


125 

Lady  Pelliam  consented,  and  the  letter  was  written.  It  spoke  ot 
Laura's  situation,  of  her  sentiments,  of  her  regret  for  Ifargrave's 
strange  perseverance,  of  the  dread  and  vexation  to  which  he  oc- 
casionally subjected  her.  To  atone  for  its  being  the  last,  it  was 
more  friendly,  more  communicative  than  any  she  had  formerly 
^yritten.  Laura  meant  to  disguise  under  a  sportive  style  the  ei- 
fects  wiiich  oppression  had  produced  upon  her  spirits  ;  and  the 
playful  melancboly  which  ran  tlu-oughout,  gave  her  expressions 
:m  air  of  artless  tenderness.  Lady  Pelham  passed  threugh  the 
liall  as  this  letter  was  lying  upon  the  table,  waiting  the  servant 
who  was  to  carry  it  to  the  post  ;  she  looked  at  it.  The  sheet  was 
"^comjjletely  filled.  She  wondered  wh4t  it  could  contain.  She  took 
it  up  and  examined  it,  as  fur  as  tlie-«:eal  would  permit  her.  What 
she  saw  did  but  increase  her  curiosity.  It  was  only  wafered,  and 
therefore  easily  opened  ;  but  then  it  was  so  dishonourable  to  open 
a  letter.  Yet  what  could  the  letter  be  the  worse  ?  A  girl  should 
have  no  secrets  from  her  near  rchitions.  Still,  to  break  a  seal ! — 
It  was  felony  by  the  law.  Lady  Pelham  laid  down  the  letter  and 
walked  away,  already  proud  of  having  disdained  to  do  a  base  ac- 
tion ;  but  she  heard  the  servant  coming  for  his  charge  ;  she 
iliought  it  best  to  have  time  to  consider  the  matter.  She 
could  give  him  the  letter  at  any  time — and  she  slipped  it  into  her 
pocket. 

Sad  sentence  is  produced  against  *  the  woman  who  deliberates  -J 
Lady  Pelliam  read  the  letter  ;  and  tlien,  in  the  heat  of  hei*  resent- 
ment at  the  manner  in  which  her  favourite  was  mentioned,  shewed 
it  to  Hargrave.  As  he  marked  the  innocent  confiding  frankness, 
the  unco;istrained  respect,  the  chastened  Vet  avowed  regard,  with 
which  Laura  addressed  liis  rival,  and  cohy-asted  them  with  tlie 
timid  caution  which,  even  during  the  reign  of  passion,  had  charac- 
terized her  intercourse  with  himself, — contrasted  them  too  with 
the  mixture  of  pity,  dislike,  and  dread,  whichliad  succeeded  her 
infatuation,  all  the  pan^js  of  rage  and  jealousy  took  hold  on  the 
soul  of  Hargrave.  llc^ould  have  vented  his  frenzy  by  tearing 
the  letter  to  atoms,  but  Lady  Pelham  snatched  it  from  his  quiver- 
ing grasp,  and  dreading  detection,  sealedlmd  restored  it  to  its 
first  destination.  ;^' 

The  first  use  which  he  made  of  his  returning  powers  of  self- 
conunund,  was  to  ui-ge  Lady  Pelham  s  concurrence  in  a  scheme 
which  he  had  before  devised,  but  which  had  been  laid  aside  in 
c()nsi'([u<.-nce  of  his  ill-founded  hopes.  He  entreated  tl'.c  her 
ladyship  would,  by  an  oppo)  tune  absence,  assist  his  intention  ; 
wliich  was,  he  said,  to  aiaini  L;tura  with  the  horrors  of  a  pretend- 
ed arrest  for  an  imaginary  debt,  and  to  work  upon  the  grateful- 
ness of  her  disposition,  by  himself  appearing  as  her  deliverer  from, 
her  supposed  difficulty.  Lady  Pelham  in  vain  urged  the  futility 
of  this  stratagem,  representing  the  obstacles  to  its  accompliah- 
ment,  and  the  certaiij|ty  of  early  detection.  Hargrave  continucdto 
importune,  and  slie  vielded. 

l2 


126 

Yet  Hargrave  himself  was  as  far  as  LadyPelhum  from  expect- 
iiig  any  fruits  from  the  feeble  artifices  which  he  had  detailed  to 
her.  He  had  little  expectation  that  Laura  could  ever  be  induced 
to  receive  any  pecuniary  obligation  at  his  hands,  and  still  less  that 
she  would  consider  a  loan  which  she  might  alm.ost  immediately 
repay,  as  a  favour  important  enough  to  be  rewarded  with  herself. 
He  even  determined  that  his  aid  should  be  offered  in  terms  which 
ivoxild  ensure  its  rejection.  Though  he  durst  not  venture  to  un- 
fold his  whole  plan  to  Lady  Pelham,  his  real  intention  was  merely 
to  employ  the  disguise  of  law  in  removing  Laura  from  even  the 
imperfect  protection  of  her  aunt,  to  a  place  where  sheHvould  bej 
utterly  without  defence  from  his  power.  To  the  baseness  of  his 
purpose  he  blinded  himself  by  considering  the  reparation  which 
he  should  make  in  bestowing  wealth  and  title  on  his  victim  ;  its 
more  than  savage  brutality  he  forgot  in  anticipation  of  the  grati- 
tude with  whicJi  Laura,  humbled  in  her  own  eyes,  aiid  in  those  of 
the  world,  would  accept  the  assiduities  which  now  she  .spurned. 
He  little  knew  the  being  whom  he  thus  devoted  to  destruction  ! 
Incited  by  jealousy  and  resentment,  he  now  resolved  on  the  im- 
mediate execution  of  his  design  ;  and  he  did  not  quit  ^^ady  Pel- 
ham  till  he  had  obtained  her  acquiescence  in  it  so  far  as  it  was 
divulged  to  her.  H^  then  hastened  to  prepare  the  instruments  of 
his  villaoy  ;  and  ere  he  gave  himself  time  to  cool,  all  was  in  rea- 
diness for  the  scheme  which  was  to  break  the  innocent  heart  that 
bad  loved  and  trusted  him  in  seeming  virtue,  and  pitied  and  pray- 
ed for  him  and  warned  him  in  guilt.  How  had  the  shades  of  evil 
deepened  since  the  time  when  Hargrave  first  faltered  between  his 
infant  passion  and  a  virtuous  purpose!  He  had  turne(i from  the 
path  which  *  shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day.*  .  On 
that  in  v/hich  he  trodethe  night  was  stealing,  slow  but  sure,  which 
closes  at  last  in  outer  darkness. 

One  morning  at  breakfast,  I^ady  Pelham,  with  more  than  usual 
civility,  apologized  for  leaving  Laura  alqne  during  the  rest  of  the 
day,  saying  that  business  called  her  a  few  miles  out  of  town,  but 
that  she  would  return  in  the  evening.  She  did  not  say  whither 
she  was  going  ;  and  Laura,  never  imagining  that  it  could  at  all 
concern  her  to  know,  did  not  think  of  inquiring.  Pleasing  her- 
self with  the  prospect  of  one  day  of  peace  and  solitude,  she  saw 
her  aunt  depart,  and  then  sat  down  to  detail  to  the  friend  of  her 
youth  her  situation,  her  wishes,  and  her  intentions.  She  was  in- 
terrupted by  a  servant  who  came  to  inform  her  that  two  men  be- 
low desired  to  speak  with  her.  Wondering  who  in  that  land  of 
strangers  could  have  business  with  her,  Laura  desired  that  they 
should  be  shewn  up  stairs.  Two  coarse  robust-looking  men,  ap- 
parently of  the  lower  rank,  entered  the  room.  Laura  was  una- 
ble to  divine  what  could  have  procured  her  a  visit  from  persons  of 
their  appearance  ;  yet,  with  her  native  courtesy,  she  was  motion- 
mg  them  to  a  seat,  when  one  of  them  steppeld  forward  ;  and,  lay- 
ing on  her  shoulder  a  stick  which  he  held,   said,  in  a  rough  fero- 

T.ious  voice,  "  Lavira  MoptrevUle,  I^restyou  at  the  suit  of  John 


127 

M>kc3.*'  Laura  was  surprised  but  not  alavimed.  *•  This  must  he 
some  mistake,"  said  she,  **  I  know  no  such  person  as  John  Dykes." 
"  He  knows  you  though,  and  that  is  enoug-h,*'  answered  t^e  man. 
"Friend,"  returned  Laura,  mildly,  "  jou  mistuke  me  for  some 
other  person."  *'  What,  Miss,"  said  the  other  mun,  advancing", 
**do  you  pretend  that  you  ai*e  not  Laura  Montreville,  daughter  of 
tlie  late  Captain  William  Montreville,  of  Glenuibertin  Scotland  ?" 
Laura,  now  changing  colour,  owned  that  she  was  the  person  so 
described.  "  But,"  said  she,  recovering  herself,  "  I  cannot  be 
arrested.  I  do  not  owe  five  shillings  in  tlie  world."  **  Mayhap 
not.  Miss/*  said  the  man,  "  but  your  fatlier  did  ;  and  you  can  be 
proved  to  have  intermeddled  witfi  his  effects  as  his  heiress,  which 
makes  you  liable  for  all  his  debts.  So  you'll  please  pay  me  the 
two  hundred  pounds  which  he  owed  to  Mr.  John  Dykes."  "  Two 
hundred  pounds  !"  exclaimed  Laura.  "  The  thing  is  impossible. 
My  father  left  a  list  of  his  debts  in  his  own  hand-writing,  and  they 
)iave  all  been  faithfully  discharged  by  the  sale  of  his  property  in 
Scotland."  The  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and 
seemed  to  hesitate  ;  but  tlie  roughest  of  tVe  two  presently  an- 
swered, "  What  nonsense  do  you  tell  me  of  lists  ?  v/Iio*s  to  be- 
lieve all  that  ?  I  have  a  just  warrant :  so  either  pay  the  money  or 
come  along."  "  Surelvj  friend,"  said  Laura,  who  now  suspected 
the  people  to  be  mere  swiinllers,  **  you  cannot  expect  that  I  should 
pay  such  a  sum  without  inquiring  into  your  right  to  demand  it.  If 
your  claim  be  a  just  one,  present  it  in  a  regular  account,  properly 
attested,  and  it  shall  be  paid  to-morrow."  "  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  to-mori'ow.  Miss,"  said  the  man.  "  I  must  do  my  busi- 
ness. It's  all  one  to  me  whether  you  pay  or  not.  It  does  not  put 
a  penny  in  my  pocket ;  only  if  you  do  not  choose  to  pay,  come 
along  ;  for  we  can't  be  ;itaying  here  all  day."  "  I  cannot  procure 
the  money  just  now,  even  though  I  were  willing,"  answered  Lau- 
ra, with  spirit,  "  and  I  do  iiot  believe  you  have  any  right  to  re- 
move me."  **  Oh,  as  for  rigfi't.  Miss,  we'll  let  you  see  that.  There 
is  our  warrant,  payerly  signed  and  sealed.  You  may  look  at  it 
in  my  hand,  for  I  don't  much  like  to  trust  you  with  it." 

The  warrant  was  stamped,  and  imposingly  wi-itten  upon  parch- 
mcnt.  With  the  tautology  which  Laura  had  been  taught  to  expect 
in  a  law-paper,  it  rung  changes  upon  the  permission  to  seize  and 
confine  the  person  of  Laura  Montreville,  as  heiress  of  William 
Montreville,  debtor  to  John  Dykes,  of  Pimlico.  It  was  signed  as 
by  a  magistrate,  and  marked  with  the  large  seals  of  office.  Laura 
now  no  longer  doubted ;  and,  turning  pale  and  faint,  asked  the 
men  whether  they  would  not  stay  for  an  hour  wh  le  she  sent  to  Fins- 
bury  Square,  to  beg  the  advice  of  Mr.  Derwent,  Lady  Pelham*s 
man  of  business.  '*  You  may  send  for  him  to  the  lock-up  house," 
said  the  savage.  "  We  have  no  time  to  spare."  **  And  whither 
will  you  take  me  ?"  cried  Laura,  almost  sinking  with  hoiTor. — 
"  Most  likely,"  answered  the  most  gentle  of  the  two  ruffians  "  you 
vould  not  like  to  be  put  into  the  coin^ion  prison  j  and  you  may 


128 

have  as  g'ood  accommodations  in  my  house  as  mig^lit  scrre  j. 

'^Tphl'of  her  dismay,  Laura's  presence  of  mind  did  not  entirely 
foisake  her.  She  hesitated  whether  she  should  not  send  to  bcj? 
S"e  assistance  of  some  of  Lady  Telham's  -<^f -^"^^"f '  «^  ,f  ^^^^^^^ 
their  advice  in  a  situation  so  new  to  her.  Aniong  them  all  there 
was  none  with  whom  she  liad  formed  any  intimacy  ;  none  whom, 
in  her^present  circumstances  of  embarrassment  and  humihaUon, 
she  felt  herself  inclined  to  meet.  She  shrunk  at  the  thought  of  the 
form  in  wliich  her  story  might  be  represented  by  the  mal.gnant  or 
m  Tudging,  and  she  conceived  it  her  best  course  to  submit  qmely 
to  an  inconvenience  of  a  few  hours'  cont  nuance,  fi;om  which  he 
did  not  doubt  that  her  aunt's  return  would  that  evening  relieve  her 
still  the  idea  of  being  a  prisoner;  of  committmg  herself  to  such 
attendan  s  ;  of  being  an  inmate  of  the  abodes  of  misery,  of  degra- 
dation perhaps  of  vice,  filled  her  with  dread  and  horror,  while 
s£g  on  a  crouch,  she  covered  her  pale  face  with  her  hands,  and 
inwardly  commended  herself  to  tlie  care  of  Jieaven. 

The  men,  meanwhUe,  stood  whispermg  apart,  and  seemed  t -, 
liave  forgotten  the  haste  which  they  formerly  expressed.  At  last 
one  of  them,  after  looking  from  the  window  into  the  street  sud. 
denlv  approached  her.  and,  rudely  seizmg  her  arm,  cried,  Come, 
Miss,  the  coach  can't  wait  all  day.  It's  of  no  use  crying;  we  re  too 
well  used  to  that,  so  walk  awuy  if  you  don't  choose  to  be  carnecU 
Laura  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and,  ^^^^f  ^X  t^-y»^87«/^^!,"- 
ga-e  her  arm,  was  silently  following  her  conductor  to  the  door, 
when  it  opened,  and  Hargrave  entered.  .      i       i 

Prepared  as  he  was  for  the  scene  of  distress,  determined  as  he 
was  to  let  no  movement  of  compassion  divert  \ns  pui-pose,  he  could 
not  resist  the  quiet  anguish  which  was  written  in  the  lovely  iace 
o?h-is  victim  ;  Ind,  turning  with  real  indignation  to  her  tonn-^^^^^^^ 
he  exclaimed,  "  Ruffian  !  what  have  you  done  to  her  ?     but  quick. 
W  recollecting  himself,  he  threw  his ll-m  familiarly  ^;"""f^  ^^^^  ^"^^ 
said,  -  My  diarest  Laura,  what  is  the  meanmg^of  a  I  ihi.  ?    ^^  hat- 
Ian  these  people  want  with  you  l"     «  Nothing  wh>ch  c^n  at  all 
concern  yoi,  Si^-,"  said  Laura,  her  spirit  retm-mng  ^^^o<^nc^ 
of  his  address,     «  Nav,  my  dear  creature,"  said  1  argra^  e.      I  am 
sue  something  terrible  ha's  happened.    Speak,  ^'^-^(.^^J^ 
turning  to  his  emissaries,  «  what  is  your  business  with  M'^s  4on. 
tre  ill?  ?'>     «  No  great  matter.   Sir,"   answered  the  mun;      only 
we  lave  a  writ  agSinst  her  for  two  hundred  pounds  and  she  does 
Lt  choose  to  pa;  it ;  so  we  must  take  her  to  a  ^tt  e^nug  p  ace» 
that's  all.-'     "To  a  prison  !  You,  Latn-a,  to  a  pnso.. !  "^"^^"Y  iC 
Isno?  to  be  thought  of.     Leave  the  room,  feUows   and  le    me    a^^^ 
with  Miss  Montrevilie;'    "  There  is  no  occasion,  ^  .r     -^^^^^^^^^^ 
«'  I-  am  wiUing  to  submit  to  a  sliort  confinement.     Afv  aunt  u.tuins 
IhL  ev.ning.^nd  she  will  undoubtedly  -<'^^l^;^^;';^y  ^ 
ought  to  be  much  the  same  to  me  what  room  I  .rhabit  ^'l 'J^^j'-  *^^^ 
intervenin^r  hours."     "  Good  heaven  !  Luuni  do  you  consider  what 
Jou  sa/  Do  vou  consider  lh«  horrors-the  di^Brace  ?  Dearest  girl. 


129 

suffer  me  to  settle  this  affair,  and  let  me  for  once  do  something' 
that  may  give  you  pleasure."  Laura's  spirit  revolted  from  the  free- 
dom with  which  this  was  spoken.  Suffering  undeservM  humilia- 
tion, never  had  she  been  more  jealous  of  her  claim  to  respect.  "  I 
am  obliged  to  you.  Sir,"  said  she,  "  but  your  good  offices  are  im- 
nccessary.  Some  little  hardship,  I  find,  I  nnist  submit  to  ;  and  I 
believe  the  smallest  within  my  choice  is  to  let  these  people  dispose 
of  me  till  Lady  Pelham's  return."  Hargi-ave  reddened.  "She  pre- 
fers a  prison,"  thought  he,  "  to  owing  even  the  smallest  obligation 
to  me.  But  her  pride  is  near  a  fall ;"  and  he  smiled  with  trium- 
phant pity  on  the  stately  mien  of  his  victim. 

He  was,  in  effect,  almost  indifferent  whether  she  accepted  or 
rejected  his  proffered  assistance.  If  she  accepted  it,  he  was  de- 
termined that  it  should  be  clogged  with  a  conditon  expressly  stat- 
ing, that  he  was  for  the  future  to  be  received  with  greater  favour. 
If  she  reftised,  and  he  scarcely  doubted  that  she  would,  he  had 
only  to  make  tlie  signal,  and  she  would  be  hurried,  unresisting,  to 
destruction.  Yet,  recollecting  the  despair,  the  distraction,  with 
which  she  would  too  late  rliscover  her  misfortune  ;  the  bitter  up- 
braidings  with  which  she  v/ould  meet  her  betrayer ;  the  frantic 
anguish  with  which  she  would  mourn  her  disgrace,  if,  indeed,  she 
survived  it,  he  was  inclined  to  wish  that  she  would  choose  the 
more  quiet  v/ay  of  forwarding  his  designs,  and  he  ag-ain  earnestly 
entreated  her  to  permit  his  interference.  Laura's  strong  dislike 
to  being  indebted  for  any  favour  to  Hargrave,  was  somewhat  ba- 
lanced in  her  mind  by  horror  of  a  prison,  and  by  the  consideration 
that  she  could  immediately  repay  him  bv  the  sale  of  part  of  her 
annuity.  Though  she  still  resisted  his  offer,  therefore,  it  was  less 
firmly  than  before.  Hargrave  continued  to  urge  her.  "  If,"  said 
l)e,  "  you  dislike  to  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  obliging  you,  this 
trifling  sum  may  be  restored  whenever  you  please  ;  and  if  you  af- 
terwards think  that  any  little  debt  remains,  it  is  in  your  power  to 
repay  it  a  thousand  fold.  .',Pne  kind  smile,  one  consenting  look, 
were  cheaply  purchased  with  a  world."  The  hint  which  conclud- 
ed this  speech  seemed  to  Laura  manifestly  intended  to  prevent  her 
acceptance  of  the  offer  which  he  urged  so  warmly.  **  Arc  yoti  not 
ashamed.  Sir,"  said  she,  with  a  disdainful  smile,  "thus  to  make  a 
parade  of  generosity  which  you  do  not  mean  to  practise  ?  1  know 
you  do  not — cannot  expect,  that  I  should  poorly  stoop  to  purchase 
your  assistance."  **  Upon  my  soul,  Laura,"  cried  Hargrave,  seiz- 
ing her  hands,  '*  I  am  most  earnest,  most  anxious,  that  you  should 
yield  to  me  in  this  affair  ;  nor  will  I  quit  this  spot  till  you  liave  con- 
sented— nor  till  you  have  allowed  me  to  look  upon  your  consent  as 
a  pledge  of  your  future  favour."  Latn-a  indignantly  snatched  her 
hand.s  from  his  grasjx  *'  All  that  I  compreliend  of  this,"  said  she, 
•'  is  insult,  or.ly  insult.  Leave  me.  Sir  !  It  Is  unworthy  even  of  you 
to  insult  tl)e  misfortunes  of  a  defenceless  woman."  -Hargrave 
would  not  be  repulsed.  He  again  took  her  hand  and  persevered  in 
his  entreaties,  not  forgetting,  however,  to  insinuate  the  conditions. 
Laura,  in  silent  scoruj  turned  from  him,  wondering  what  could  be 


130 

the  motive  of  his  strange  conduct,  till  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
that  the  arrest  might  be  a  mere  plot  contrived  by  Hargrave  him- 
self for  th^  purpose  of  terrifying  her  into  the  acceptance  of  the  con- 
ditions necessary  to  her  escape.  This  suspicion  once  formed 
gained  strength  by  every  (Circumstance.  The  improbability  of  the 
debt ;  the  time  chosen  when  Lady  Pelham  was  absent ;  the  oppor- 
tune arrival  of  liargrave  ;  the  submission  of  the  pretended  bailiffs 
to  his  order  ;  his  frequent  repetition  of  the  conditions  of  his  offer, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  a]^eared  to  wish  for  its  acceptance  ;  all 
conspired  to  convince  Laura  that  she  Was  intended  to  be  made  the 
dupe  of  a  despicable  artifice.  Glowing  with  indignation,  she  again 
forced  herself  from  Hargrave.  "  Away  with  this  contemptible 
mockery,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  hear  no  more  of  it.  While  these  peo- 
ple choose  to  guard  me  in  this  house,  it  shall  be  in  an  apartment 
secure  from  your  intrusion."  Tljen  before  Hargrave  could  prevent 
her,  she  left  him,  and  shut  herself  into  her  own  chamber. 

Here,  at  greater  liberty  to  think,  a  new  question  occurred  to  her. 
In  case  of  her  refusal  to  accept  of  H.ojgrave's  terms — in  case  she 
actually  preferred  intrusting  herself  to  the,p.retemled  bailiffs,  whi- 
ther could  they  intend  to  convey  her  !  Laura's  blood  ran  cold  at 
tlie  thought.  If  they  were  indeed  the  agents  of  Hargrave,  what 
v/ as  there  of  dreadful  that  she  h:tcl;'not  to  fear  !~  Yet  she  could 
scarcely  believe  that  persons  could  be  found  to  attempt  so  daring 
a  villany.,  Woidd  they  venture  upon  an  outrage  for  which  they 
must  answer  to  the  laws  !  an  outrage  which.  Lady  Pelham  would 
^certainly  feel  herself  concerned  to  bring  to  imn^ediate  detection 
and  punishment.  "  Unfortunate  chance  !"  cried  Laura,  "  that  my 
aunt  should  be  absent  just  when  ^he  might  have  saved  mc.  And  I 
know  not  even  where  to  seek  lier.  Why  did  she  not  tell  me  whi- 
ther she  was  going  ?  She  who'fwas  wont  to  be  so  open  ! — Can  this 
be  a  part  of  this  cruel  snare  ?  Could  she — Oh  it  is  impossible  ? 
My  fears  make  me  suspicious  and  unjust." 

Though  Laura  thus  endeavoured  ^  acquit  Lady  Pelham,  her 
suspicion  of  Hargrave*s  treachery  augmented  every  moment. — 
While  she  remembered  that  her  father,  though  he  had  spoken  to 
her  of  his  affairs  with  the  most  confidential  frankness,  h^d  never 
hinted  at  such  a  debt,  never  named  such  a  person  as  Ids  pretended 
creditor — while  she  thought  of  the  manner  of  Hargrave's  interfer- 
ence, the  improbability  that  her  own  and  her  father's  name  and 
address,  as  well  as  the  casualty  of  L:idy  Pclham's  absence  should 
be  known  to  mere  strangers — the  little  likelihood  that  common 
swindlers  would  endeavour  to  extort  money  by  means  so  hazardous 
and  with  such  small  chance  of  success — her  conviction  i*ose  to  cer- 
tainty ;  and  she  determined  that  nothing  short  of  force  should 
place  her  in  the  power  of  these  impostors.  Yet  how  soon  might 
that  force  be  employed !  How  feeble  was  the  resistance  which  slie 
could  ofier  !  And  who  would  venture  to  aid  her  in  resisting  the 
pi-etended  servants  of  law  !  "  Miserable  creature  that  f  am  !"  cried 
she,  wringing  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  grief  and  terror,  **  must  I 
jiubmit  to  this  cruel  wrong? — Is  tiiprc  no  one  to  save  mc— -no 


131 

friend  near  ; — Yes  !  }-cs,  I  have  a  friend  from  whom  no  treachery  of 
man  can  tear  rac — w  ho  can  deliver  me  from  their  violence — who 
can  do  more — can  make  their  cruelty  my  passport  to  life  eternal. 
Let  me  not  despair  then— Let  me  not  be  wanting'  to  myself— "VN'ith 
His  blessing  the  feeblest  means  are  mighty." 

After  a  moment's  consideration  Laura  rung  her  bell,  and  the 
maid  who  usually  attended  her  appeared.  "  Catherine,"  said  Laii* 
ra,  endeavouring  to  speak  composedly,  "  will  you  obhge  me  by 
going  to  P'insbury  Square,  to  Mr.  Derwent,  and  begging  of  him  to 
come  hither  instantly  ?"  "  Bless  me,  Madam,"  cried  the  girl,  "  you 
look  as  if  you  were  just  going  to  faint !  can  I  get  you  any  thing  I** 
*•  No,  no,  I  shall  not  faint,"  said  Laura.  "  Go,  my  dear — go  quick- 
ly— if  you  would  save  a  wretch  from  destruction.  Stop  not  a  mo- 
ment, 1  implore  you  ! — Oh  Catherine,  more  than  lifi^  depends  on 
you  !"  The  girl's  curiosity  was  strongly  excited  by  these  words, 
as  well  as  by  the  strange  visit  of  tlie  men  who  were  waiting  in  tlie 
lobby.  Slie  w^ould  fain  have  staid  to  make  inquiries,  but  the  im- 
ploring anguish  of  Laura's  look  and  manner  was  u*resistible,  and 
she  hastened  out  of  the  room.  Laura  then  double-locking  the 
door  determined  that  by  force  only  it  should  be  entered,  and 
throwing  herself  on  a  seat,  strove  to  rally  the  spirits  siie  was  so 
soon  to  need.  In  a  few  minlites,  liowever,  Catherine  returned,  and 
tlirough  the  key  hole  informed  Laura  that  she  had  been  intercept- 
ed by  the  men  below  stairs,  who  would  not  suffer  any  one  to  leave 
the  house.  All  is  then  as  I  feared,"  cried  Laura  in  a  voice  of  des- 
peration. "  And  has  he  made  his  cruel  plot  so  sure  ?  Is  there  no 
escape  ?  Oh  Catherine  !  cannot  you  steal  away  from  them  ?  Is 
there  no  means  to  save  me  ?"  Moved  by  the  voice  of  anguish,  the 
girl  promised  to  do  her  utmost,  bilt  confessed  that  she  had  little 
hope  of  succeeding. 

For  a  moment  Laura  believed  her  fate  scaled,  and  almost  gave 
herself  up  to  despair  ;  but  now  convinced  of  the  treacliery  of  Har- 
grave,  and  imwillingly  obUged  to  suspect  Lady  Pelham's  conni- 
vance, indignation  at  such  unexampled  baseness  and  cruelty  again 
roused  her  tainting  spirit.  Again  she  determined  to  resist  to  the 
uttermost,  and  if  dragged  by  force  from  her  place  of  refuge,  to  ap- 
peal to  the  humanity  of  the  passengers  in  the  streets.  "  Surely," 
thought  slie,  *'  even  connnon  strangers  will  not  permit  such  op- 
pression." The  windows  of  her  chamber  looked  towards  the  gar- 
dens behind  the  house  ;  and  she  now  regretted  that  she  had  not 
rather  shut  herself  up  in  one  of  the  front  apartments,  from  whence 
she  could  have  explained  her  situation  to  the  passers  by.  Seeing 
no  other  chance  ot  escape,  she  resolved  on  attempting  to  change 
her  place  of  i-efuge,  and  was  approaching  the  door  to  listen  whe- 
ther any  one  was  near,  when  she  was  startled  by  the  rough  voice 
of  one  of  the  pretended  bailiffs.  "Come  along.  Miss,"  he  cried, 
*'  we  are  quite  tired  of  waiting.  Come  along."  The  shuddering 
Laura  made  no  reply.  "Come,  come.  Miss,"  cried  the  man  again  ; 
**  you  have  had  time  enough  to  make  ready."  Laura  continued  si- 
lent, while  the  rufhai;  Cidled  to  her  again' ^nd  again,  shitjking  the 


132 

door  violently.  He  threatened,  with  shocking  oaths,  that  he  would 
burst  it  open,  and  that  she  should  be  punished  for  resisting  tiic 
officers  of  justice.  A.11  was  in  vain.  Laura  would  not  answer  a  sin- 
gle word.  Trembling  in  every  limb,  she  listened  to  his  blas- 
phemies and  vows  of  vengeance,  till  she  had  wearied  out  her  per- 
secutor, and  her  ear  was  gladdened  with  the  sound  of  his  depart- 
ing  steps.  He  was  almost  immediately  succeeded  by  his  less  fe- 
rocious companion,  who  more  civilly  begged  her  to  hasten,  as  their 
business  would  not  permit  any  longer  delay.  Finding  that  she 
would  not  answer,  he  reminded  her  of  the  consequences  of  ob- 
structing the  execution  of  law  ;  and  threatened,  if  she  continued 
obstinate,  to  use  force.  Laura  sat  silent  and  motionless,  using 
every  momentary  interval  of  quiet,  in  breathing  a  hasty  prayer  for 
deliverance.  Tlie  least  violent  of  the  fellows  pi-oved  the  most  per- 
severing ;  yet  at  last  she  had  the  satisfaction  to  hear  him  also  re- 
tire Pi-esently  a  lighter  step  approached,  and  Hargrave  called  to 
her.  *'Miss  ivJontreviUe !  Laura !  Miss  Montreville !"  Laura  was  still 
silent.  He  called  again,  without  success.  "Miss  Montreville  is 
ill,"  cried  he  aloud,  as  if  to  some  one  at  a  distance.  "  She  is  insensi- 
ble. The  door  must  be  forced."  "  No  !  no,"  cried  Laura,  determin- 
cd  not  to  leave  him  this  pi'ctence,  *'  1  am  not  insensiblej  npr  ill,  if 
j'OU  would  leave  me  in  peace."  "  For  heaven*s  sake,  then,"  return- 
ed he,  "  let  me  speak  a  few  words  to  you."  '*  No,"  answered  Lau- 
ra, **  you  can  say  nothing  that  I  wish  to  heai*."  **  I  beseech  you,  I 
implore  you,"  said  Hargrave,  '*  only  by  one  word  put  it  in  my  power 
to  save  you  from  these  miscreants^ — say  but  that  one  little  word, 
and  you  are  free."  '*  Man,  man  !"  cried  Laura  vehemently,  "  why 
will  you  make  me  abhor  you  ?  I  want  no  freedom  but  from  your 
persecutions  !  Begone  !"  "  Only  promise  me,"  said  Hargrave, 
lowering  his  voice,  **  only  promise  me  that  you  will  give  up  that 
accursed  De  Courcy,  and  I  wdl  dismiss  these  men."  "  Do  you 
curse  him  who  saved  your  life  1  Monster  !  Leave  me  !  I  detest 
you."  Hargrave  gnawed  his  lip  with  passion.  "  You  shall  dearly 
pay  this  obstinacy,"  said  he,  and  fiercely  strode  way. 

in  the  heat  of  his  wrath,  he  commanded  his  coadjutors  to  force 
the  door  ;  but  the  law  which  njakes  the  home  of  an  Englishman  a 
sacred  sanctuary,  extends  its  precious  influence,  in  some  faint  de- 
gree, to  the  breasts  even  of  the  dregs  of  mankind  ;  and  these 
wretches,  who  would  have  given  up  Laura  to  any  other  outrage, 
hesitated  to  perpetrate  this.  They  objected  the  danger.  "  Does 
your  honour  think,"  said  one  of  them,  "  that  the  servants  will 
stand  by  and  allow  us  to  break  open  the  door."  "  1  tell  you,"  said 
Hargrave,  "  all  the  men  servants  are  from  home.  What  do  you 
fear  from  a  parcel  of  women  ?"  "  Women  can  bear  witness  as 
well  as  men,  your  honour  ;  and  it  might  be  as  much  as  our  necks 
are  worth  to  be  convicted.  But  if  your  honour  could  entice  her 
out,  vre*d  soon  catch  her."  Hargrave  took  two  or  three  turns  along 
the  lobby,  and  then  returned  to  Laura :  "  Miss  Montreville,"  said 
he,  "  my  dearest  Miss  Montreville,  I  conjure  you  to  admit  me 
only  for  a  moment.    Thes«  savages  will  wait  no  longer.  They  are 


tlcteriTiined  to  force  your  door.  Once  more  I  implore  you,  before  iL 
is  too  late,  let  me  s]>eak  with  you.  I  expect  them  every  moment/* 
Laura's  breast  swelled  with  indig^nation  at  this  vite  pretence  of 
kindness.  "  Acting  under  your  command,  sir,"  said  she,  "  1  doubt 
not  that  they  may  even  dare  this  outrag-e.  And  let  them  at  their 
peril.  If  the  laws  of  my  country  cannot  protect,  they  shall  avenj^e 
me."  For  a  moment  Ilarg-rave  stood  confounded  at  this  detection, 
till  anger  replacing-  sham^— **  Very  well,  madam,"  he  cried ;  "  in- 
sult me  as  you  please,  artd  take  the  consequences."  He  then  re- 
joined his  emisaries  -,  and  by  bribery  and  threats  endeavoured  to 
prevail  upon  them  to  consummate  their  violence.  The  men,  un- 
willing- to  forfeit  the  reward  of  the  hazard  and  trouble  they  had 
already  undergone,  allured  by  Hargrave*s  pi-omiscs,  and  fearing 
his  vengeance,  at  last  agreed  to  drag  their  hapless  victim  to  her 
doom. 

Having  taken  such  instruments  as  they  could  find,  for  the  pi/r- 
posc  of  forcing  the  door,  they  followed  Hargrave  up  stairs,  and 
prepared  to  begin  their  work.  At  this  near  prospect  of  the  success 
of  all  his  schemes,  Hargrave's  rage  Ixsgan  to  cool  ;  and  a  gleam 
of  tenderness  and  humanity  reviving  in  his  heart,  he  shrunk  from 
v.itnessing-  the  anguish  which  he  was  about  to  inflict.  "Stop,'* 
s-aid  he  t6  his  people,  who  were  approaching  the  door  ;  "  stay  a 
few  moments  ;"  and,  putting  his  hand  to  his  forclicad,  he  walked 
about,  not  wavering  in  his  pui'pose,  but  endeavouring  to  excuse 
it  to  himself  "  It  is  all  the  consequence  of  her  own  obstinacy," 
said  be,  suddenly  stopping.  "  You  may  go  on — No  ;  stay,  let 
me  first  get  but  of  this  house.  Her  cries  would  drive  n>e 
iTiad. — Make  haste — lose  no  time  after  I  am  gone.  It  is  better 
over." 

Besides  the  motive  wirich  he  otvned,  HargraVe  v.as impelled  to 
depart  by  the  dread  of  meeting  Laura's  upbraiding  eye,  antl  by 
the  shame  of  appearing  even  to  the  servants,  who  were  so  soon 
to  know  his  baseness,  an  inactive  spectator  of  Laura's  distress. 
He  hastened  from  the  house,  and  the  men  proceeded  in  their 
work.  With  dread  and  horror  did  Laura  listen  to  their  attempts. 
Pale,  breathless,  her  hands  clenched  in  terror,  she  fixed  her 
strained  eyes  on  the  door,  which  every  moment  seemed  yielding  ; 
then  flying  to  the  window,  surveyed  in  despair  the  height,  which 
made  escape  an  act  of  suicide  ;  then  again  turning  to  tlie  door, 
tried  with  her  feeble  strength  to  aid  its  resistance.  In  vain  I  it 
yielded,  and  the  shock  threw  Laura  on  the  ground.  The  ruffians 
raised  her,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  were  seizing  her  lily  arms 
to  lead  her  away  ;  but,  with  all  her  native  majesty,  slie  motioned 
|]iem  from  her.  "  You  need  not  touch  me,"  said  she,  *♦  you  see  I 
can  resist  no  further.''  Witli  the  composure  of  dcspaii-i  she  fd- 
lowed  them  to  the  hall,  where,  her  strength  failing,  she  sunk  iij)- 
on  a  scati  The  servants  now  in  pity  and  amazement  approachlr.,^ 
her,  she  addressed  herself  to  <;ne  of  them.  **  Will  you  g<>  witii 
me,  my  good  friend,"  said  she,  "  that  you  may  rettun  and  tell 
Lady  Fefham  where  to  find  her  niece's 'corp^€>l'*  The  ^iiican- 


134 

sented  with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  but  one  of  the  fellows  qrietl,  **  No, 
no,  she  may  rut>  after  the  coach  if  she  likes,  but  she  don't  go  with- 
in side."  *•  Why  not  ?"  said  the  other  with  a  brutal  leer.  "  They 
may  both  get  home  again  together.  They'll  be  free  enough  soon." 
Laura  shuddered.  *'  Where  wandered  my  senses,"  said  she, 
*'  when  I  thought  of  subjecting  any  creature  to  the  chance  of  a 
fate  like  mine  !  Stay  here,  my  dear,  and  tell  LadyPelham,  that  I 
charge  her,  by  all  her  hopes  here  and  hereafter,  to  seek  me  before 
she  sleeps.  Let  her  seek  me  wherever  ihere  is  wickedness  and 
wo — and  there,  living  or  dead,  I  shall  be  found."  "  Let's  have 
done  with  all  this  nonsetise,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  John,  make 
the  coach  draw  up  close  to  the  door."  The  fellow  went  to  do  as 
he  was  desired ;  while  the  other  with  a  handkerchief  prepared  to 
stifle  the  cries  of  Laura,  in  case  she  should  attempt  to  move  the 
pity  of  passengers  in  the  street.  Laura  heard  the  carriage  stop, 
she  heai'd  the  step  let  down,  and  the  sound  was  like  her  death 
knell. 

The  man  hurried  Rer  through  the  hall.  He  opened  the  street 
door— and  Catherine  entered  witli  Mr.  Derwent.  Laura,  raising 
her  bowed  down  head,  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  "I  am  safe!"  she 
cried,  and  sunk  into  the  arms  of  Catherine. 

Mr.  Derwent  immediately  directed  his  servants  to  seize  the  fel- 
low who  kad  held  Laura,  the  other  having  made  Itis  escape  upon 
seeing  the  arrival  of  her  deliverers.  Laura,  soon  recovering,  told 
her  tale  to  Mr.  Derwent,  who  ordering  the  man  to  be  searched, 
examined  the  warrant,  a«d  declared  it  to  be  false.  .  The  danger 
attending  forgery,  however,  had  been  avoided,  for  there  was  no 
magistrate  of  the  same  name  with  that  which  appeared  in  the  sig- 
nature. Hargrave's  villany  thus  fully  detected,  Laura  wished  to 
dismiss  his  agent  ;  but  Mr.  Derwent  would  not  permit  such  atro- 
city to  go  unpunished,  and  gave  up  the  wretch  to  the  arm  of  law. 
He  then  quitted  Laura,  leaving  his  servant  to  attend  her  till  Lady 
Pelham's  return  ;  and,  worn  out  with  the  emotion  she  had  under- 
gone, she  threw  herself  on  a  bed  to  seek  some  rest. 

Early  in  the  evening  Lady  Pelham  returned,  and  immediately 
Inquired  for  her  niece.  The  servants,  always  attentive  and  often 
uncharitable  spectators  of  the  actions  of  their  superiors,  had  be- 
fore observed  the  encouragement  which  their  misti-ess  gave  to 
Htirgrave,  and  less  unwilling  to  suspect  than  Laura,  were  convin- 
ced of  Lady  Pelham's  connivance  in  his  purpose.  None  of  them 
therefore  choosing  to  announce  the  failure  of  a  scheme  in  which 
they  believed  her  so  deeply  implicated,  her  questions  produced 
no  information  e.Kcept  that  Miss  Moiitreville  was  gone  indisposed 
to  bed.  The  habitual  awe  with  which  the  good  sense  and  discern- 
ment of  Laura  had  inspired  Lady  Pelham,  was  at  present  aug- 
mented almost  to  fear  by  the  consciousness  of  duplicity.  She 
shrunk  from  encountering  the  glance  of  quiet  scrutiny,  tlie  plain 
direct  question  which  left  no  room  for  prevarication,  no  choice  be- 
tween simple  truth  and  absolute  falsehood.  But  curiosity  to  know 
the  success  of  the  plot,  and  still  morw  a  desire  to  discover  how 


135 

far  she  was  suspected  of  abetting  it,  prevailed  over  her  fears  ;  and 
having  before  studied  the  part  she  was  to  play,  she  entered  Lau- 
ra's apartment. 

She  found  her  already  risen  and  prepared  to  receive  her.  "  My 
dear  child,"  said  her  ladyship,  in  one  of  her  kindest  tones,  "  I  am 
told  you  have  been  ill.  What  is  the  matter  ?"  "  My  illness  is  no- 
thing-. Madam,"  answered  Laura,  "  but  I  have  been  alarraed  in 
}our  absence  by  the  most  daring-,  the  most  unprincipled  outrage !" 
"  Outrage,  my  dear  !'*  tf^ed  Lady  Pelham,  in  a  voice  of  the  utmost 
surprise  ;  "  What  outrage  ?'*  Laura  then,  covnmanding  by  a  pow- 
erful effort  the  indignation  which  swelled  her  heart,  related  her 
injuries  without  comment  ;  pausing  at  times  to  observe  how  her 
aunt  was  affected  by  the  recital.  Lady  Pelham  was  all  amaze- 
ment ;  which,  though  chiefly  pretended,  was  partly  real.  She  was 
surprised  at  the  lengths  to  which  Hargrave  had  gone,  and  even 
suspected  his  whole  design,  though  she  was  far  from  intending  to 
discover  her  sentiments  to  her  niece.  .  "  This  is  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  I  ever  heard  of!"  cried  she,  when  Laura  had  ended. 
**  What  can  have  been  the  meaning  of  this  trick  ?  What  can  have 
incited  the  people  ?"  **  Colonel  Hargrave,  Madam,"  said  Laura 
without  hesitation.  "  Impossible,  my  dear  !  Hargrave  can  be  no 
further  concerned  in  it,  than  so  far  as  taking  advantage  of  the  ac- 
cident to  extort  the  promise  of  a  little  kindness  from  you.  He 
would  never  have  ventured  to  send  the  men  into  my  house  on  such 
an  errand."  "  One  of  them  confessed  to  Mr.  Derwent,  before  the 
whole  family,  that  Colonel  Hargrave  was  his  employer."  "  Aston- 
ishing !"  cried  Lady  Pelham.  "  And  what  do  you  suppose  to 
have  been  Hargrave's  intention  ?"  *'  I  doubt  not.  Madam,"  return- 
ed Laura,  commandingher  voice,  though  resentment  flashed  from 
her  eyes,  "  I  doubt  not  that  his  intentions  were  yet  more  base  and 
inhuman  than  the  means  he  employed.  But  v/hatever  they  were, 
I  am  certain  he  would  never  have  dared  to  entertain  them,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  encouragement  which  your  ladyship  h.ts  thought 
proper  to  give  him."  "  1,  child  !'*  cried  Lady  PeUiam,  truth  in 
her  colour  contradicting  the  falsehood  of  her  tongue,  "  Surely 
you  do  not  think  I  would  encourage  him  in  such  a  plot !"  *•  No, 
Madam,"  answered  L»«ra,  "I  hope  and  believe  you  are  incapa- 
ble of  consenting  to  such  wickedness.  I  allude  only  to  the  gene- 
ral countenance  which  you  have  always  shewn  to  Colonel  Har- 
grave." Lady  Pelham  co\dd  implicitly  relv  upon  Laura's  word  ; 
and  finding  that  she  was  herself  unsuspected,  she  had  leisure  to 
attempt  palliating  the  offence  of  her  protegee.  "  That  counte- 
nance," returned  she,  "  shall  be  completely  withdrawn  for  the  fu- 
ture, if  Hargrave  does  not  explain  this  strange  frolic  entirely  to 
my  satisfaction."  *'  Frolic,  Madam  !"  cried  Laura,  indignantly. 
"  If  that  name  belong  to  crimes  which  would  disgrace  barbarians, 
then  call  this  a  frolic!"  "Come,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Lady  Pelham, 
coaxingly  throwing  her  arm  round  Laura,  'you  are  too  much,  and 
I  must  own,  according  to  present  appearances,  too  justly  h'rita- 
■  ed,  to  talk  of  this  afl'air  oooUy  to-night.  To-moiTow  we  sliaU  con- 


^  crse  about  it.  Now  let's  go  to  tea."  "  So,  Maclam,?^  said  Luui'a 
with  spirit,  for  she  saw  tlirough  her  aunt's  intention  of  g-lossing- 
over  Ilargrave's  viilany — "  I  will  never  again  expose  myself  to  the 
chance  of  meeting-  a  wretch  whose  crimes  are  my  abhorrertite. 
I  will  not  leave  this  room  till  I  quit  it  for  ever.  Madam,  you  have 
often  called  me  firm.  Now  1  will  prove  to  you  that!  am  so.  Give 
lue  the  means  to  go  hence  in  a  manner  becoming  your  niece,  or  my 
own  limbs  shall  bear  me  to  Scotland,  and  on  the  charity  of  my  fel- 
low-creatures will  I  rely  for  support."  *^I  protest,  my  love,"  cri- 
ed Lady  Pelham,  *'  you  are  absolutely  in  a  passion  ;  I  never  saw 
you  so  angry  till  now."  ♦*  Your  ladyship  never  saw  me  have  such 
reason  for  anger,"  replied  Laura.  "I  own  I  am  angi-y,  yet  1  know 
that  ray  determination  is  right,  and  I  assure  you  it  wiU  outlive  the 
heat  with  which  it  is  expressed.".. 

Had  Laura's  purpose  been  more  placidly  announced  it  would- 
have  roused  Lady  Pelham  to  fury  ;  but  even  those  who  have  least 
command  over  their  tempers  have  generalship  enough  to  perceive 
the  advantage  of  the  attack  ;  and  the  passion  of  a  virago  has  com- 
jnonly  a  patriarchal  submission  for  its  elder-born  brother.  Lady 
I'elham  saw  that  Laura  was  in  no  humour  for  trifling  ;  sli€  knew 
that  her  resolutions  were  not  easily  shaken  ;  and  she  quitted  her 
upon  pretence  of  fatigue,  but  in  reality  that  she  might  consider 
how  to  divert  her  from  thfe  purpose  which  she  had  announced  so 
peremptorily. 

Laura  was  every  day  becoming  more  necessary  to  her  aunt,  and 
to  think  of  parting  with  her  was  seriously  disagreeable.     Besides, 
Laura's  departure  would  effectually  blast  the  hopes^of  Hargrave  : 
and  what  would  then   become  of  all  Lady  Pelham's  prospects  of 
borrowing  consequence  from   the  lovefe  young  Countess  of  Lin- 
court  ?  Never   wanting  in  invention.  Lady  Pelham   thought  of  a 
hundred  projects  for  preventing  her  niece's  journey  to  Scotland. 
Her  choice  was  fixed,  by  a  circumstance  which  she  could  not  ex- 
clude from  her  consideration.     The  story  of  Hargrave*s  nefarious 
plot  was  likely  soon  to  be  made  public.     It  was  known  to  Mr.  Der- 
went,  and  to  all  hcv  own  household.  Her  conscience  whispered  that 
her  connivance  would  be  suspected.     Mr.  Derwent  might  be  dis- 
creet ;  but  what  was  to  be  expected  from  the  discretion  of  ser- 
vants ?  The  story  would  spread  from  the  footmen  to  the  waiting- 
maids,  and  from  these  to  their  ladies,  till  it  would  meet  her  at 
every  tvu-n.     Nor  had  her  imprudent  consent  left  her  the  power  of 
disclaiming  all  concern  in  it,  by  forbiddmg  Hargrave  her  house, 
t^ince  he  would  probably  revenge  himself  by  disclosing  her  share 
in  the  stratagem.     Lady  Pelham  saw  no  better  means  of  palliating 
these  evils,  than  by  dismissing   her  establishment  and  returning 
immediately   to   Walbourne  ;  and  she  hoped,  at  the  same  time, 
that  it  might  not  be  impossible  to  prevail  on  Laura  to  change  the 
direction  of  her  journey.     For  this  purpose  she  began  by  beseech- 
ing her  niece  to  lay  aside  thoughts  of  retiring  to  Scotland  ;  and 
uas  beginning  to  recount  all  the  disadvantages  of  such  a  proceed- 
ji^r:  but  Laura  would  listen  ti)  no  remonstrance  ou  the  subject  j 


127 

deolarlng  that  if,  after  what  had  happened,  she  remained  in  a  place 
where  she  was  liable  to  such  outrage,  she  should  be  herself  ac- 
countable for  whatever  evil  might  be  the  consequence.  Lady  Pel- 
ham  then  proposed  an  immediate  removal  to  Walbourne,  artfully- 
insinuating,  that,  if  any  cause  of  complaint  should  there  arise,  Lau- 
ra would  be  neai*  the  advice  and  assistance  of  her  friends  at  Nor- 
wood, and  of  Mrs.  Bolingbroke.  Laura  was  not  without  some 
wishes  that  pointed  towards  Walbourne  ;  but  she  remembered  the 
importunities  which  she  had  there  endured,  and  she  firmly  resist- 
ed giving  occasion  to  their  renewal.  Lady  Pelbam  had  then  re- 
course to  tender  upbraidings.  "Was  it  possible  that  Laura,  the 
only  hope  and  comfort  of  her  age,  would  quit  her  now,  when  she 
had  so  endeared  herself  to  the  widowed  heart,  reft  of  all  other- 
treasure — now,  when  increasing  infirmity  required  her  aid— now, 
v,hen  tlie  eye  which  was  so  soon  to  close,  was  fixed  on  her  as  on 
its  last  earthly  treasmc  !  "Would  Laura  thus  cruelly  punish  her 
for  a  crime  in  which  she  had  no  share  ;  a  crime  which  she  was 
Willing  to  resent  to  the  utmost  of  her  niece's  wishes  !"  Lady  Pel- 
Kam  talked  herself  into  tears,  and  few  hearts  of  nineteen  are  hard 
enough  to  resist  the  tears  of  age.  Laura  consented  to  accompany 
lier  aunt  to  Walbourne,  provided  that  she  should  never  be  impor- 
tuned on  the  subject  of  Hargrave,  nor  even  obliged  to  see  him. 
These  conditions  Lady.Pclham  solemnly  promised  to  fulfil,  and, 
well  pleased,  prepared  for  her  journey.  Hargi-ave,  however, 
waited  on  her  before  her  departure,  and  excused  himself  so  well 
on  the  score  of  his  passion,  his  despair,  and  his  eager  desire  of  his 
being  allied  to  Lady  Pelham,  that,  after  a  gentle  reprimand,  he 
was  again  received  into  favour,  informed  of  the  promises  which 
had  been  made  against  him,  and  warned  not  to  be  discouraged  if 
their  performance  could  not  immediately  be  dispensed  with.  Of 
this  visit  Laura  knew  nothing  ;  for  she  adliered  to  her  resolution 
of  keeping  her  apartment,  nor  ever  crossed  its  threshold,  till,  on 
the  third  day  after  her  perilous  adventure,  the  can-iage  was  at  thp 
door  which  conveyed  lier  to  Walbourne» 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

As  Lady  Pelham's  carriage  passed  the  entrance  of  the  avenue 
which  led  to  Norwood,  Laura  sunk  into  a  profound  reverie  ;  in 
the  course  of  which  slie  settled  most  minutely  the  behaviour  pro- 
per for  her  first  meeting  with  De  Courcy.  She  decided  on  the 
gesture  of  unembarrassed  cordiality  with  which  she  was  to  accost 
Eim  ;  intending  her  manner  to  intimate  that  she  accounted  him  a 
friend,  and  only  a  friend.  The  awkwardness  of  a  private  inter- 
view she  meant  to  avoid  by  going  to  Norwood  next  day,  at  an  hour 
which  she  knew  that  Montague  employed  in  rending  aloud  to  hi» 
m2 


138 

.i-.i-^..  All  tlils  excellent  arrangement,  however,  was  untop- 
tnnately  useless.  Laura  was  taking-  a  very  early  ramble  in  what 
had  always  been  her  favourite  walk,  when,  at  a  sudden  turn,  she 
saw  De  Courcy  not  three  steps  distant.  Her  white  gown  shining 
through  the  still  leafless  trees  had  caught  his  attention,  tlie  slight- 
est glimpse  of  her  form  was  sufficient  for  the  eye  of  love,  and  he 
had  advanced  prepared  to  meet  her  ;  while  she,  thus  taken  by 
surprise,  stood  before  him  conscious  and  blushing.  At  this  confu- 
sion, so  flattering  to  a  lover,  De  Courcy's  heart  gave  one  bound  of 
triumphant  joy ;  but  he  was  too  modest  to  ascribe  to  love  what 
timidity  might  so  well  account  for,  and  he  prudently  avoided  re- 
minding Laura,  even  by  a  look,  of  either  his  hopes  or  his  wishes. 
Quickly  recollecting  herself,  Laura  entered  into  a  conversation 
which,  though  at  first  reserved  and  interrupted,  returned  by  de- 
grees to  the  confitlential  manner  which  De  Courcy  had  formerly 
won  froin  her  under  the  character  of  her  father's  iriend. 

Thi^  confidence,  so  precious  to  him,  De  Courcy  was  careful  nc- 
rer  to  interrupt.  From  the  time  of  Laura's  return,  he.  saw  her  al- 
most daily.  She  made  long  visits  to  Mrs,  De  Courcy  ;  he  came 
©ften  to  Walbourne  ;  they  met  in  their  walks,  in  their  visits  ;  they 
spent  a  week  together  under  Mr.  Bolingbroke's  roof;  yet  De 
Courcy  religiously  kept  his  promise,  nor  ever  wilfully  reminded 
Laura  that  he  had  a  wish  beyond  her  friendship.  Always  gentle, 
xespectfid  and  attentive,  he  never  invited  observation  by  distin- 
guishing her  above  others  who  had  equal  claims  on  his  politeness. 
She  only  shared  his  assiduities  with  every  other  woman  whom  he 
approached  ;  nor  did  he  betray  uneasiness  when  she,  in  her  turn, 
received  attentions  from  others.  His  prudent  self-command,  had 
the  effect  which  he  intended;  and  Laui:a,  in  conversing  with  him, 
telt  none  of  the  reserve  which  may  be  supposed  to  attend  hiter- 
course  with  a  rejected  admirer.  His  caution,  even  at  times,  de- 
ceived her.  She  recollected  Mrs.  Douglas's  prophecy,  that  *  his 
attachment  would  soon  subside  into  friendly  regard,'  and  imagined 
she  saw  its  accomplishment.  *'  Flow  happy  are  men  in  having 
such  flexible  affections,"  thought  she  with  a  sigh.  "  I  wonder  whe- 
ther he  has  entirely  conquered  the  passion  which,  three  short 
months  ago,  was  to  *  last  through  life — beyond  life  ?'  I  hope  he 
has,*'  whispered  she  with  a  deeper  sigh  ;  and  she  repeated  it  again — 
*'  Ihope  he  has,'* — as  if,  by  repeating  it,  she  would  have  ascertain- 
ed that  it  was  her  real  sentiment.  Yet,  at  other  times,  some  little 
inadvertency,  unheeded  by  less  interested  observers,  would  awa- 
ken a  doubt  of  De  Courcy's  self-conquest ;  and  in  that  doubt  Laura 
unconsciously  found  pleasure.  She  often  reconsidered  the  argu- 
ments wh)c4i  her  friend  had  used  to  prove  that  passion  is  unneces- 
sary to  the  happiness  of  v/edded  life.  She  did  not  allow  that  she 
was  convinced  by  them  ;  but  she  half  wished  that  she  had  had  an 
opportunity  of  weiglilng  them  before  she  had  decided  her  fate  with 
regard  to  De  Courcy,  Meanwhile,  much  of  her  time  was  spent  in 
his  company,  and  his  presence  had  ever  brought  pleasure  with  it. 
Week  after  week  pasi^ed  agreeably  away,  and  the  close  of  the  win- 


130 

ler  nt(Miccl  for  the  disquiet  which  had  mfijlvcd  its  commencement. 
During  all  this  time,  Laura  saw  nothings cf  Hargrave.  His  visits, 
indcccljto  Walbourne,  were  more  frequent  than  slie*  supposed ; 
but  the  only  one  of  which  she  liad  beeu  ir.n)rmed,  Lady  Felham 
affected  to  announce  to  her,  advising  lier  to  avoid  it  by  spending 
that  day  at  Norwood.  Since  their  retr.vn  from  town,  her  ladyship 
had  entirely  desisted  from  her  remonslrauces  in  his  favour]  and 
Laura  hoped  that  his  last  outrage  had  opened  her  aunt's  eyes  to 
the  deformity  of  his  character.  And,  could  Lady  Pelham's  end 
have  been  pursued  without  annoyance  to  any  living  being,  it  would 
long  before  have  shared  the  perishable  nature  of  her  other  pur- 
poses. But  whatever  conferred  the  Invaluable  occasion  of  torment- 
ing, was  cherished  by  Lady  Pelhamjas  the  dearest  of  her  concerns ; 
and  she  only  waited  fit  opportunity  to  shew  tliat  she  could  be  as 
stubborn  in  th  waiting  the  wishes  of  others,  as  capricious  in  vary- 
ing her  own.  De  Courcy's  attachment  could  not  escape  her  pene- 
tration  ;  and  as  she  wasiar  frrtm  intending  to  desert  the  cause  of 
Hargrave,  she  saw,  with  displeasure,  the  progressive  advancement 
of  Laura's  regard  for  the  friend  of  her  father.  Though  sh.e  was  suf- 
ficiently acquainted  with  Laura  to  know  that  chiding  would  eflect 
no  change  in  her  sentiments  or  conduct,  she  had  not  temper  enough 
to  restrain  her  upbraiding-s  on  this  subject,  but  varied  them  with 
all  the  skill  and  perseverance  of  a  veteran  in  provocation.  **  She 
did  not,  she  must  confess,  understand  the  delicacy  of  ladies  whose 
affections  could  be  transferred  from  one  man  to  another.  She  did 
not  see  how  any  modest  woman  could  find  two  endurable  men  in 
the  world.  It  was  a  farce  to  tell  her  of  friendship  and  gratitude, 
and  such  like  stuff.  Every  body  knew  the  meaning  of  a  fiiendship 
between  a  girl  of  nineteen  and  a  good-looking  young  fellow  of  five- 
and-twenty.  She  wondered  whether  Laura  was  really  v.ise  enough 
to  imagine  that  De  Courcy  could  afford  to  marry  her  ;  or  whether, 
if  he  were  mad  enough  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  she  coidd  be  so 
ungenerous  as  to  take  advantage  of  his  folly,  to  plunge  him  into 
irretrievable  poverty  ;  and  this  too,  when  it  was  well  known  that  a 
certain  young  heiress  had  prior  chiims  upon  him.'*  Laura  at  first 
listened  to  these  harangues  with  tolerable  sangfroid,-  yet  they  be- 
came, she  was  unconscious  why,  every  day  more  provoking. 

Though  she  had  self-command  enough  to  be  silent,  her  changing 
colour  announced  Lady  Pelham's  victory,  and  it  was  followed  up 
without  mercy  or  respite.  It  had,  hovvcver,  no  other  effect  than 
that  of  imposing  a  little  restraint  when  her  ladyship  happened  to 
be  present ;  for  De  Courcy  continued  his  attentions,  and  Laura  re- 
ceived him  with  increasing  favour. 

Lady  Pelham  omitted  none  of  the  minor  occasions  of  disturbing 
this  harmonious  intercourse.  She  interrupted  their  tete-a-tetes, 
beset  them  in  their  walks,  watched  their  niost  insignificant  looks, 
pried  into  their  most  common-place  messages,  and  dexterously 
hinted  to  the  one  whatever  foible  she  could  sec  or  imagine  in  the 
other.  A  casual  breath  of  scandal  soon  furnished  her  witli  a  golden 
opportunity  of  sowing  dissension,  and  she  iTSt  no^time  in  taking 


140 

advauiage  of  the  hint.  "  It  is  treating-  me  like  a  baby,"  said  she 
once  to  Laura,  after  opening  in  form  her  daily  attack;  "  it  is  treat 
ing  me  like  a  mere  simpleton  to  expect  that  jou  are  to  deceive 
me  with  your  flourishing  sentiments  about  esteem  and  gi*atitude. 
Have  esteem  and  g-ratitude  the  blindness  of  love  ?  Don*t  I  see  that 
you  overlook  in  your  beloved  Mr  Montague  De  Courcy  faults 
which  in  anotlier  you  would  think  sufficient  excuse  for  any  ill-treat- 
ment that  you  cliose  to  inflict  ?"  Laura  kept  silence ;  for  of  late 
she  had  found  that  her  temper  could  not  stand  a  charge  of  this  kind. 
"  What  becomes  of  all  your  fine  high-flown  notionsof  purity,  and 
so  forth,"  continued  Lady  Pelham,  '*  when  5'ou  excuse  his  indis- 
cretions with  his  mother's  proteg^ey  and  make  a  favourite  and  a 
play-thin^- of  his  spoilt  bantling?"  Laura  turned  pale,  then  red- 
tlei^ed  violently.  **  What  protegee  ?  what  bantling !"  cried  she, 
quite  thrown  offher  guard.  "  I  know  of  no  indiscretions — I  havq 
no  play-things." — "  What!  you  pretend  not  to  know  that  the  brat 
he  takes  so  much  notice  of  is  his  own.  Did  you  never  hear  of  his 
affair  with  a  pretty  girl  whom  his  m.nmma  was  training  as  a  wait- 
ing-maid for  her  fine-lady  daughter  ?**  *•  Mr.  De  Courcy,  Madam !" 
cried  Laura,  making  a  powerful  strug-gle  with  her  indignation— 
*'  He  seduce  a  girl  who,  as  a  member  of  his  family,  was  doably 
entitled  to  his  protection  !  Is  it  possible  that  your  ladyship  can 
give  credit  to  such  a  calumny  ?"  *'  Hey-day,"  cried  Lady  Pelham, 
with  a  provoking  laugh,  "  a  most  incredible  occurrence  to  be  sure ! 
And  pray  why  should  your  immaculate  Mr.  De  Courcy  be  impec- 
cable any  more  than  other  people  ?"  "  I  do  not  imagine.  Madam,'" 
returned  Laura,  with  recovered  self-possession,  "  that  Mr.  De 
Courcy,  or  any  of  the  human  race,  is  perfectly  sinless  ;  but  nothing 
short  of  proof  shall  convince  me  that  he  is  capable  of  deliberate 
wickedness  ;  or  even  that  tlie  casual  transgressions  of  such  a  man 
can  be  so  black  in  their  nature,  so  heinous  in  their  degree.  It 
were  next  to  a  miracle  if  one  who  makes  conscience  of  guarding 
his  very  thoughts,  could,  with  a  single  step,  make  such  progress 
in  iniquity."  "  It  were  a  miracle  indeed,**  said  Lady  Pelham, 
sneeringly,  "  if  you  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  believe  any  thing 
that  contradicts  your  romantic  vagaries.  As  long  as  you  are  de- 
termmed  to  worship  De  Courcy,  you'll  never  listen  to  any  thing- 
that  brings  him  down  from  his  pedestal "  "  It  is  wasting' time," 
returned  Laura  calmly,  "  to  argue  on  the  improbability  of  this  ma- 
licious tale.  I  can  easily  give  your  ladyship  the  pleasure  of  being 
able  to  contradict  it.  Airs.  Bolingbroke  is  at  Norwood.  She  will 
tell  me  frankly  who  is  the  real  father  of  little  Henry,  and  I  shall 
feel  no  difliculty  ia  asking  her.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to 
lend  me  the  carriage  for  an  hour  ?**  "  A  pretty  expedition  truly  1" 
cried  Lady  Pelham,  '*  and  mighty  delicate  and  dignified  it  is  for  a 
young  lady,  to  run  about  inquiring  into  the  pedigree  of  all  the  bas- 
tards hi  tlie  country  !  I  assure  you,  Miss  Montreville,  1  shall  nei- 
ther countenance  nor  assist  such  a  scheme  !"  **  Then,  Madam," 
answered  Laura  coolly,  "  I  shall  walk  to  Norwood.  The  claims 
of  dignity,  or  even  of  delicacy,  are  surely  inferior  to  tkose  of  jus- 


Ill 

tice  aud  gnttitude.  But  ihoagli  it  should  subject  me  to  the  scorn 
of  all  mankind,  I  will  do  what  in  mc  lies  to  clear  his  good  name 
whose  kindness  ministered  the  last  comforts  tliat  sweetened  the 
life  of  my  father." 

The  manner  in  which  these  words  were  pronounced,  shewed 
Lady  Pelham  that  resistance  was  useless.  She  was  far  from  wish- 
ing to  quarrel  with  the  IJe  Courcy  family,  and  she  now  began  to 
fear  that  she  sheuld  appear  the  })ropagator  of  this  scandal.  Having 
little  time  to  consult  the  means  of  safety,  since  Laura  was  already 
leaving  the  room,  she  hastily  said,  '*  I  suppose  in  your  explana- 
tions with  Mrs.  Bolingbroke,  you  will  give  me  up  for  your  autho- 
rity ?'*  "No,  Madam,"  replied  Laura,  with  a  scorn  which  she 
could  not  wholly  suppress,  **  your  ladyship  has  no  right  to  think 
so  at  the  moment  when  I  am  shewing  such  concern  for  the 
reputation  of  my  friends."  Lady  Pelham  would  have  fired  at  this 
disdain,  but  her  quietus  was  at  hand — she  was  afraid  of  provoking 
Laura  to  expose  her,  and  therefore  she  found  it  perfectly  possible 
to  keep  her  temner.  "  If  you  are  resolved  to  go,"  said  she,  **  you 
had  better  waitrfll  I  order  the  carriage;  I  fear  we  shall  have  rain." 
Laura  at  first  refused  ;  but  Lady  Pelham  pressed  her,  with  so  ma- 
ny kind  concerns  for  a  slight  cold  whiciv  she  had,  that  though  she 
saw  through  the  veil,  she  suffered  her  ladyship  to  wear  it  undis- 
turbed. The  carriage  was  ordered,  and  Laura  hastened  to  Nor- 
wood. 

Though  she  entertained  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  De  Courcy's 
integrity,  she  was  restless  and  anxious.  It  was  easy  to  see  that 
her  mind  was  pre-occupied  during  the  few  minutes  which  passed 
before,  taking  leave  of  Mrs,  De  Courcy,  she  begged  Mrs.  Boling- 
broke to  speak  with  her  apart.  Harriet  followed  her  into  another 
room  ;  and  Laura,  with  much  more  embarrassnrvent  than  she  had 
expected  to  feel,  prepared  to  begin  her  interrog-ations.  Harriet, 
fi*om  the  thoughtful  aspect  of  her  companion,  anticipating  some- 
thing of  importance,  stood  gravely  waiting  to  hear  what  she  had 
to  say;  while  Laura  was  confused  by  the  awkwardness  of  explain- 
ing her  reason  for  the  question  she  was  about  to  ask.  "  I  have 
managed  this  matter  very  ill,"  said  she  at  last,  pursuing  her 
thoughts  aloud.  "I  have  entered  on  it  with  so  much  formality, 
that  you  must  expect  some  very  serious  affair;  and,  after  all,  I  am 
only  going  to  ask  a  trifling  question.  Will  you  tell  me  who  is  the 
father  of  my  pretty  little  Henry  ?"  Harriet  looked  surprised,  and 
answered — "Really,  my  dear,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  dare.  You  in- 
quired the  same  thing  once  before  ;  and  just  when  I  was  going  to 
tell  you,  Montague  looked  so  terrible,  that  I  was  forced  to  holcFmy 
tongue.  But  what  makes  you  ask  ?  What!  you  wun't  tell  ?  Then 
I  know  how  it  is.  My  prophecy  has  proved  true,  and  the  good 
folks  have  given  liim  to  Montague  himself  Ah  !  what  a  tell-tale 
face  you  have,  Laura  ?  And  who  has  told  you  this  pretty  story  ?" 
"  It  is  of  no  CO  tsequence,"  replied  Laura,  "  that  you  should  know 
my  authority,  provided  that  I  have  your's  to  contradict  tlie  slander.** 
"  Vou  shall  have  better  authoritv  than  mine,"  returned  Harriet.— 


142 

"  Those  who  were  maUclous  enough  to  invent  such  a  tale  of  Mon- 
tague, might  well  assert  that  his  sister  employed  falsehood  to  clear 
him.  You  shall  Iiear  the  whole  from  nurse  Mai-garet  herself;  and 
her  evidence  cannot  be  doubted.  Come,  will  you  walk  to  the  cot- 
tage and  hear  what  she  has  to  say  ?" 

They  found  Margaret  alone ;  and  Harriet,  impatient  till  her  bro- 
ther should  be  fully  justified,  scarcely  gave  herself  time  to  answer 
the  old  woman's  civilities,  before  she  entered  on  her  errand. 
"  Come,  niirse,"  said  slie,  with  all  her  natural  frankness  of  man- 
ner, "  I  have  something  particular  to  say  to  you.  Let's  shut  the 
door,  and  sit  down.  Do  you  know  somebody  has  been  malicious 
enough  to  tell  Miss  Montreville  that  Montague  is  little  Henry's 
fatlier."  Margaret  lifted  up  her  hands  and  eyes.  **  My  young 
master,  madam !"  cried  she — "  He  go  to  bring  shame  and  sorrow 
into  any  honest  man's  family!  If  you'll  believe  me,  miss,"  con- 
tinued she,  turning  to  Laura,  "  this  is,  begging  your  pardon,  the 
wickedest  lie  that  ever  was  told"  Laura  was  about  to  assure  her 
that  she  gave  no  credit  to  the  calumny,  but  Harriet,  who  had  a 
double  reason  for  wishing  that  her  friend  shouHJflisten  to  Marga- 
ret's tale,  interrupted  her,  saying,  *'  Nurse,  I  am  sure  nothing 
could  convince  her  so  fully  as  hearing  the  whole  story  from  your 
own  lips.  I  brought  her  hither  on  purpose ;  and  you  may  trust  to 
her,  I  assure  you,  for  she  is  just  such  a  wise  prudent  creature  as 
you  always  told  me  I  ought  to  be."  "  Ah,  madam,"  answered 
Margaret,  "  I  know  that ;  for  John  says  she  is  the  prettiest  be- 
haved young  lady  he  ever  saw ;  and  says  how  fond  my  lady  is  of 
her,  and  others  too  besides  my  lady,  though  it  is  not  for  servants 
to  be  making  remarks."  *'  Come  then,  nurse,"  said  Harriet,  "  sit 
down  between  us  ;  tell  us  the  whole  sad  story  of  my  poor  foster- 
sister,  and  clear  your  friend  Montague  from  this  aspersion."  Mar- 
garet did  as  she  was  desired.  "  ■'^^7  yes  !"  said  she,  tears  lending 
to  her  eyes  a  transient  brightness,  **  I  can  talk  of  it  now !  Many  a 
long  evening  John  and  T  speak  of  nothing  else.  She  always  used 
to  sit  between  us,<^but  now  we  both  sit  close  together.  But  we 
are  growing  old,"  continued  she,  in  a  more  cheerful  tone,  '*  and 
in  a  little  while  we  shall  see  them  all  again.  We  had  three  of  the 
prettiest  boys  ! — My  dear  young  lady,  you  will  soon  have  children 
of  your  own,  but  never  set  your  heart  upon  them,  nor  be  too  proud 
of  them,  for  that  is  only  provoking  Providence  to  take  them  away." 
**  I  sliall  probably  never  have  so  much  reason,"  said  Harriet,  "  as 
you  had  to  be  proud  of  your  Jessy."  The  mother's  pride  had  sur- 
vi«d  its  object;  and  itbi-ightened  M.irgaret's  faded  countenance, 
as^ressing  Harriet's  hand  between  her  own,  she  cried,  "  Ah,  bless^ 
you  !  you  were  always  kind  to  her.  She  was  indeed  the  flower  of 
my  little  flock  ;  aud  when  the  boys  were  taken  away,  she  was  our 
comfort  for  all.  But  I  was  too' proud  of  her.  Five  years  since, 
there  was  not  her  like  in  all  the  country  round.  A  dutiful  child, 
too,  and  never  made  us  sad  and  sorrowful  till — and  such  a  pretty 
modest  creature !  But  I  was  too  protid  of  her  " 


143 

Margaret  stopped,  and  covered  her  face  with  the  comer  of  her 
apron.  Sympathizing  tears  stood  in  Laurji's  eyes;  while  Harriet 
sobbed  aloud  at  tlie  remembrance  of  the  play  fellow  of  her  infancy. 
The  old  woman  first  recoverf  d  herself  '*  I  shall  never  have  done 
at  this  rate,'*  said  she,  and,  dryiiifi;'  her  eyes,  turneil  to  address  the 
rest  of  her  talc  to  Laura.  "  Well,  ma'am,  a  gentleman  who  used 
to  come  a  visiting  to  the  castle,  by  ill  fortune  chanced  to  see  her  ; 
and  ever  after  thac  he  noticed  her  and  spoke  to  her  ;  and  flattered 
me  up  too,  saying,  what  a  fine  looking  young  creature  she  was, 
and  so  well  brought  up,  and  what  a  pity  it  was  that  she  should  be 
destined  for  a  tradesman's  wife.  So,  like  a  fool  as  I  was,  I  thought 
no  harm  of  his  fine  spe.^ches,  because  Jessy  always  said  he  behaved 
quite  modest  and  respectful  like.  But  John,  to  be  sure  was  angry, 
and  said  that  a  tradesman  was  her  equal,  and  that  he  hoped  her 
rosy  cheeks  would  never  g'.ve  her  nrtjons  above  her  station  ;  and, 
says  he,— I  am  sure  many  and  many  a  time  I  have  thought  of  his 
words — says  he,  *  God  grant  I  never  see  worse  come  of  her  than 
to  be  an  honest  tradesman's  wife.*  My  young  master,  too,  saw  the 
gentleman  one  day  speaking  to  her  ;  and  he  was  so  good  as  to  ad- 
vise her  himself,  and  told  her  that  the  gentleman  meant  nothing 
honest  by  all  his  fine  speeclies  So  after  that  she  would  never 
stop  with  him  at  all,  nor  give  an  ear  to  a  word  of  his  flatteries  ;  but 
always  ran  away  from  him,  telling  him  to  say  those  fine  things  to 
his  equals.  So,  one  unlucky  day  I  had  some  matters  to  be  done  in 
the  town,  and  Jessy  said  she  would  like  to  go,  and  poor  foolish  I 
was  so  left  to  myself  that  I  let  her  go.  So  she  dressed  herself  in 
her  clean  white  gown. — I  remember  it  as  it  were  but  yesterday. 
I  went  to  the  door  witli  her,  charging  her  to  be  home  early.  She 
shook  hands  vvitli  me.  Jessy,  says  1,  you  look  just  like  a  bride. 
So  she  smiled.  No,  mother,  says  she,  I  shan't  leave  home  so  mer- 
rily the  day  Heave  it  for  all — nnd  I  ne\er  saw  my  poor  child  smile 
again.  So  she  went,  poor  lamb,  little  thinking! — and  I  stood  in  the 
door  looking  after  her,  thinking,  like  a  fool  as  I  was,  that  my  young 
master  need  not  Ij.ive  thought  it  strange  though  a  gentleman  had 
taken  her  for  a  wife,  for  there  were  not  many  ladies  that  looked  like 
her.'* 

Margaret  rested  her  arms  upon  her  knees,  bent  her  head  over 
tliem,  made  a  pause,  and  then  began  again.  "  All  day  I  was  as 
merry  as  a  lark,  singing  and  making  every  thing  clean  in  our  little 
habitation  here,  where  [  tiiought  we  shouhl  all  sit  down  together 
so  happy  when  John  came  home  at  night  from  the  castle.  So  it 
was  getting  darkish  before  my  work  was  done,  and  then  I  began  to 
V'onder  what  was  become  of  Jessy ;  and  n)any  a  t'me  I  went  ac)|^s 
the  green  to  see  if  there  was  any  sight  of  her.  At  last  John  came 
home,  and  I  told  him  that  I  was  beginning  to  be  frightened ;  but 
he  laughed  at  me,  and  said  she  had  perhaps  met  with  some  of  her 
comrades,  and  was  gone  to  ta"ke  her  tea  with  them.  So  we  sat 
down  by  the  fire  ;  but  1  coidd  not  rest,  for  my  mind  misgave  me 
sadly  ;  so  says  I,  John,  I  will  go  and  see  after  my  girl.    Well,  says 

hc;  we- may  as  wcU  go  andinQ^t  her.— AIasI  A^\  ft  sad  meeting 


144 

vas  that!  We  went  to  the  d(>or;  I  opened  it,  and  someboJy  fv!l 
against  me. — It  was  Jessy.  She  looked  as  dead  as  she  did  the  day 
1  hiid  her  hi  her  coffin  ;  and  all  her  pretty  cheek  was  blue,  and  her 
pretty  mouth,  that  used  to  snnile  so  sweetly  in  my  face  when  she 
was  a  baby  on  my  knee*,  it  was  all  bloody.  And  her  pretty  shining 
hair  that  1  used  to  comb  so  often — Oh  woe,  woe  is  me!  How  could 
I  see  such  a  sig-ht  and  live." 

The  mother  wrung  her  withered  hands,  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  were  breaking.  Laura  laid  her  arms  kindly  round  old  Mar- 
garet's neck,  for  misfortune  made  the  poor  and  the  stranger  her 
equal  and  Iier  friend.  Sheofferedno  words  of  unavailing  consola- 
tion, but  pitying  tears  trickled  fast  down  her  cheeks  ;  while  Mrs. 
Bolingbroke,  her  eyes  flashing  indignant  fires,  "  Surely  the  curse 
of  heaven  will  pursue  that  wretch  !"  "  Alas  !"  said  Margaret,  "  I 
fear  I  cursed  him  too;  but  I  was  in  a  m  .nner  beside  myself  then. 
God  forgive  both  him  and  me  !  My  poor  child  never  cursed  him. 
All  that  1  could  say  she  would  not  tell  who  it  was  that  had  used  her 
so.  She  said  she  should  never  bring  him  to  justice  ;  and  always 
prayed  that  his  own  conscience  might  be  his  only  ptmishment  So 
from  vthe  first  we  saw  that  her  heaitwas  quite  broken  ;  for  she 
would  never  speak  nor  look  up,  nor  let  me  do  the  smallest  thing 
for  lier,  but  always  said  it  was  not  fit  that  1  sliould  wait  on  such  a 
one  as  she.  Well,  one  night,  after  we  were  all  a  bed,  a  letter  was 
flung  in  at  the  window  of  Jessy's  closet,  and  she  crept  out  of  her 
bed  to  take  it.  I  can  shew  it  you,  Miss,  for  it  was  under  her  pil- 
low when  she  died."  Margaret,  unlocking  a  drawer,  took  out  a 
letter  and  gave  it  to  Laura,  v/ho  read  it  in  these  words  ; 

**  My  dear  Jessy, 
"I  am  the  mo.st' miserable  wretch  upon  earth;  I  wish  I  had 
been  upun  ihc  nick  the  hour  I  met  you.  I  am  sure  I  have  been  so 
ever  since.  Do  not  curse  me,  dear  Jessy !  Upon  my  soul,  I  liad  fur 
less  thought  of  being  the  ruffian  1  have  been  to  you,  than  1  have  at 
this  moment  of  blowing  out  m}-  own  brains.  I  wvsh  to  heaven  that 
I  had  been  in  yonr  own  stati(m  that  I  might  have  made  you  amends 
for  the  injury  1  have  done.  l>ut  you  know  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  many  you.  I  inclose  a  bank  bill  for  100^.,  and  f  will  continue  to 
pay  you  the  same  sum  annually  while  you  live,  though  you  should 
3iever  consent  to  see  me  more.  If  you  make  me  a  father,  no  ex- 
pense-shall be  spared  to  provide  the  means  of  secrecy  and  comfort. 
No  accommodation  whicli  a  wife  could  have  shall  be  withheld  from 
you.  Tell  me  if  there  be  any  thing  more  that  I  can  do  for  you.  I 
shall  never  forgive  myself  for  what  I  have  done.  I  abhor  myself; 
and,  from  this  hour,  1  forswear  all  woman  kind  for  your  sake. 
Once  more,  dear  Jessy,  pardon  me,  1  implore  you." 

This  letter  was  without  signature  ;  but  the  hand-writing  was 
familiar  to  Laura,  and  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  Hargrave's. 
Shuddering  at  this  new  proof  of  his  depravity,  Laura  inwardly  oT- 
fered  a  thanksgiving  that  she  had  escaped  all  connexion  with  sucii 


115 

a  monster.  "  You  nir.y  tnisi  my  friend  vvith  tlie  wretch's  name," 
said  Harriet,  anxious  that  Laura's  conviction  sliould  be  complete. 
**  She  Avill  make  no  imprudent  use  of  it."  "  1  sliould  never  have 
known  it  myself  had  it  not  been  for  this  letter,"  answered  Marga- 
ret. "  But  my  poor  child  wished  to  answer  it,  and  slie  was  not 
rihle  to  cai-ry  the  answer  herself,  so  she  was  obliged  to  ask  her  fa- 
ther to  go  with  it.  And  first  she  made  us  both  promise  on  the 
bible,  never  to  bring  him  either  to  shame  or  punishment ;  and  then 
she  told  us  that  it  was  that  same  Major  Hargravn  tjiat  used  to 
speak  her  so  fair.  Here  is  the  scroll  that  John  took  of  her  an- 
swer :" 

**Sir,  I  return  your  money,  for  it  can  be  of  no  use  where  I  am 
going.  I  will  never  curse  you  ;  but  trust  I  shall  to  the  last  have 
pity  on  you,  who  had  no  pity  on  me.  1  fear  your  sorrow  is  not 
right  repentance ;  for,  if  it  was,  you  would  never  think  of  com- 
mitting a  new  sin  by  taking  your  ov.n  life,  but  rather  of  making 
reparation  for  the  great  evil  you  have  done.  Not  that  I  say  this  in 
respect  of  wishing  to  be  your  wife.  My  station  makes  tliat  unsuita- 
ble, more  especially  now  when  I  should  be  a  disgi*ace  to  any  man. 
And  I  most  say,  a  wicked  person  would  be  as  unsuitable  among 
my  friends  ;  for  my  parents  ai'e  honest  persons,  although  their 
daughter  is  so  unhappy  as  to  bring  shame  on  them.  1  shall  not  live 
long  enough  to  disgrace  them  any  farther,  so  pray  inquire  no  more 
for  me,  nor  take  the  trouble  to  send  me  money,  for  1  will  i^ot  buy 
my  coffin  with  the  wages  of  shame  ;  and  I  shall  need  nothing  else. 
So,  wishing  that  my  untimely  end  may  bring  you  to  a  true  repent- 
ance, I  remain,  Sir,  the  poor  dying  disgraced, 

"  Jessy  Wilson.'' 

*'  Ah,  ISliss,"  continued  Margaret,  wiping  from  the  paper  tlie 
drops  which  had  fallen  on  it,  "  my  poor  child's  prophecy  was  true- 
She  always  said  she  would  just  live  till  her  child  was  born,  and 
then  lay  her  dishonoured  head  and  her  broken  heart  in  the  grave. 
I\Iy  lady  and  Miss  Harriet  there  were  veiy  kind,  and  my  young- 
master  himself  was  so  good  as  to  promise  that  he  would  act  the 
part  of  a  father  to  the  little  orphan.  And  he  used  to  argue  with 
her  that  she  should  submit  to  the  chastisement  that  was  laid  upon 
lier,  and  tliat  she  might  find  some  comfort  still  ;  but  she  always 
said  that  her  chastisement  was  less  than  she  dci«crvcd,  but  that 
she  could  never  wish  to  live  to  be  *  a  very  scorn  of  men,  an  outcast 
and  ah  alien  among  her  mother's  children.*  So  the  day  tluit  little 
Henry  was  born,  she  was  doing  so  well,  that  we  were  in  hopes  she 
would  still  be  tipared  to  us  ;  buj^..  she  knew  better;  and,  whfTt  I 
was  sitting  by  her,  she  pulled  me  ciose  to  her,  *  Mother,'  Suid  she, 
looking  pleased  like,  '  the  time  of  my  release  is  at  hand  now,'  and 
then  she  charged  me  never  to  give  poor  little  Henry  to  his  cruel 
father.  I  had  not  power  to  say  a  word  to  her,  but  sat  hushing  the 
baby,  with  my  heart  like  to  break.  So,  b^  and  by,  she  said  to  me 
»guin,  but  very  weak  and  low  like,  *  my  brotliers  lie  side  by  sid^ 

N 


146 

ill  the  cliurch  jard,  lay  ine  at  their  feet ;  it  is  good  enough  for  me.' 
So  she  never  spoke  more,  but  closed  her  eyes,  and  slipt  quietly 
away,  and  left  her  poor  old  mother." 

A  long  pause  followed  Margaret's  melancholy  tale.  "  Are  you 
convinced,  my  friend  V*  said  Mrs.  Bolingbroke  at  length.  "  Fully," 
answered  Laura,  and  returned  to  silent  and  thankful  meditation. 
**  My  master,"  said  Margai'et,  "  has  made  good  his  promise  to 
poor  Jessy.  He  has  shewn  a  father's  kindness  to  her  boy.  He  paid 
for  his  nursiug,  and  forces  John  to  take  aboard  for  him  that  might 
serve  any  gentleman's  son  ;  and  now  it  will  be  very  hard  if  the 
end  of  all  his  goodness  is  to  get  himself  ill  spoken  of;  and  nobody 
saying  a  word  against  him  that  was  the  beginning  of  all  this  mis- 
chief. But  that  is  the  way  of  the  world."  "  It  is  so,"  said  Laura. 
*•  And  what  can  better  warn  us  that  the  earth  v.as  never  meant fi)r 
our  resting-place.  The  '  raven'  wings  his  way  through  it  trium- 
phant. The  '  dove*  finds  no  rest  for  the  soIq  of  her  foot,  and  turns 
to  the  ark  from  whence  she  came." 

Mrs.  Bolingbroke  soon  after  took  leave  of  her  narse,  and  the 
ladies  proceeded  in  their  walk  towards  Walbourne.  Harriet  con- 
tinued to  express  the  warmest  detestation  of  the  profligacy  of 
Hargi-ave,  while  Laura's  mind  was  chiefly  occupied  in  endeavour- 
ing to  account  for  De  Courcy's  desire  to  conceal  from  her  the  enor- 
mity which  had  just  come  to  her  knowledge.  Unable  to  divine 
his  reason,  she  applied  to  Harriet.  "  Why,  my  dear,"  said  she, 
•*  should  your  brother  have  silenced  you  on  a  subject  which  could 
only  be  mentioned  to  his  honour  ?"  '*  He  never  told  me  his  rea- 
sons," said  Harriet  smiling,  "  but  if  you  will  not  be  angry  1  may 
try  to  guess  them."  "  I  think,"  &aid  Laura,  "  that  thus  cautioned, 
I  may  contrive  to  keep  my  temper  ;  so  speak  boldly."  *'  Then,  my 
dear,"  said  Harriet,  "  1  may  venture  to  say  that  I  think  he  suspect- 
ed you  of  a  partiality  for  this  wretch,  and  would  not  shock  you  by 
a  full  disclosure  of  liis  depravity.  And  I  know,"  added  she,  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  *'  that  in  him  this  delicacy  was  vir- 
tue ;  for  the  peace  of  his  life  depends  on  securing  your  aflectionate, 
your  exclusive  preference."  "  Ah,  Hai'riet,  you  have  guessed 
right. — Yes  !  I  see  it  all.  Dear  generous  De  Courcy  !"  cried  Laura, 
and  burst  into  tears.  Harriet  had  not  time  to  comment  upon  this 
agitation  ;  for  the  next  moment  De  Courcy  himself  was  at  her  side. 
For  the  first  time  Laura  felt  embarrassed  and  distressed  by  his 
presence.  The  words  she  had  just  uttered  still  sounded  in  her 
ear,  and  she  trembled  lest  they  had  reached  that  of  De  Courcy. 
She  was  safe.  Her  exclamation  v.- as  unheard  by  Montague — but  he 
instantly  observed  her  tears,  and  they  banished  ftom  his  mind 
every  other  idea  than  that  of  Laura  in  son-ow.  He  paid  his  com- 
pliments like  one  whose  attention  was  distracted,  and  scarcely  an- 
swei-ed  what  his  sister  addressed  to  him.  Mrs.  Bolmgbroke  in- 
wardly cnjo\ing  his  abstraction  and  Laura's  embarrassment,  de- 
termined not  to  spoil  an  opportunity  which  she  judged  so  favour- 
able to  her  brother's  suit.  *'  This  close  walk,"  said  she  witii  a  sly 
smile,  "  was  never  lueaut  for  a  trio.  It  is  just  fit  for  a  pair  of  lovers. 


147 

?sow  I  have  letters  to  write,  and  if  you  two  \v'A\  excuse  me" — TTe 
Coiircy  colouring"  crimson,  had  not  presence  of  mind  to  make  any 
reply,  while  Laura,  thoug'h  burning  with  shame  and  vexation,  an- 
swered witli  her  habitual  self-command,  "  Oh  pray  my  dear,  use 
no  ceremony.  Here  are  none  bxii  friends''  The  emphasis  which 
she  laid  upon  the  last  word,  wrung'  a  heavy  sigli  from  De  Ccui  C}' ; 
who,  while  his  sister  was  takine^  leave,  was  renewing  his  resolu- 
tion not  to  disappoint  the  confidence  of  Laura. 

The  very  circumstances  which  Mrs.  BoUn|:;-broke  had  expected 
should  lead  to  a  happy  eclaircissentent,  made  tliis  interview  the 
itiost  reserved  and  comfortless  which  the  two  friends  had  ever  had. 
Laura  was  too  conscious  to  talk  of  tlie  story  which  she  had  just 
heard,  and  she  was  too  full  of  it  to  enter  easily  upon  any  ciher 
subject.  With  her  gratitude  for  the  delicacy  which  De  Courcy  had 
observed  towards  her,  was  mingled  a  keen  feeling  of  humiliation 
at  the  idea  that  he  had  discovered  her  secret  before  it  had  been 
eonfided  to  him  ;  for  we  can  sometimes  confess  a  weakness  whicli 
we  cannot  without  extreme  mortification  see  detected.  Her  silence 
and  depression  infected  De  Courcy  ;  and  the  few  short  constrained 
sentences  which  were  spoken  during  their  walk,  formed  a  contrast 
to  the  general  vivacity  of  their  conversations.  Laura,  however, 
recovered  her  eloquence  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone  with 
Lady  Pelham.  With  all  the  animation  of  sensibility,  she  related 
the  storj*  of  the  ill-fated  Jessy  ;  and  disclosing  in  confidence  the 
name  of  her  destroyer,  drew,  in  the  fullness  of  her  heart,  a  com- 
parison between  the  violator  of  laws  human  and  divine,  owing  his 
life  to  the  mercy  of  the  wretch  whom  he  had  undone,  and  the  kind 
adviser  of  inexperienced  youth,  the  humane  protector  of  forsaken 
infancy.  Lady  Pelham  quietly  heard  her  to  an  end ;  and  then 
wrinkling  her  eyelids,  and  peeping  through  them  with  her  glitter- 
ing blue  eyes,  she  began,  "Do  you  know,  my  dear,  1  never  met 
with  prejudices  so  strong  as  yours  ?  When  will  you  give  over 
looking  for  prodigies  ?  Would  any  mortal  but  you  expect  a  gay 
young  man  to  be  as  correct  as  yourself?  As  for  yoiu*  immaculate 
Mr.  De  Courcy,  with  his  sage  advices,  I  think  it  is  ten  to  one  tiiat 
he  wanted  to  keep  the  girl  for  himself.  Besides,  I'll  answer  for  it, 
Haro;-rave  would  have  bid  farewell  to  all  his  indiscretions,  if  you 
would  have  married  him."  "Never  name  it.  Madam,"  cried  Laura 
warmly,  "  if  you  would  not  banish  me  fiom  your  presence.  His 
marriag-e  with  me  would  have  been  itself  a  crime  ;  a  crime  aggra- 
vated by  being,  as  if  in  mockery,  consecrated  to  heaven.  For  71:^ 
connexion  with  such  a  person  no  name  is  vile  enough."  "  \A'ell, 
WtU,"  said  Lady  Pelham,  shrugging  her  shoMlders,  "  I  propiiesy 
that  one  day  you  will  repent  haying  refused  to  share  a  title  with 
the  handsomest  man  in  England."  "  All  distinction  between  right 
and  wrong,"  returned  Laura,  "  must  first  be  blotted  from  ray  mind. 
The  beauty  of  his  person  is  no  moie  to  me  than  the  shining  colours 
of  an  adder;  and  the  ra:ik  which  your  ladyship  prizes  so  highly. 


148 

would  but  render  me  a  more  conspicuous  mark  for  the  infamy  in 
"which  his  wife  must  share." 

Awed  by  the  lightnings  of  Laura's  eye,  Lady  Pelham  did  not 
venture  to  carry  tlie  subject  farther  for  the  present.  She  had  of 
late  been  watching  an  opportunity  of  procuring  the  re-adniission  of 
Hargrave  to  the  presence  of  his  mistress  ;  but  this  fresh  discovery 
Ivid  served,  if  possible,  to  widen  the  breach.  Hargrave's  fiery 
temper  submitted  with  impatience  to  the  banishment  which  he  had 
so  well  deseryed,  and  he  constantly  urged  Lady  Pelham  to  use 
her  authorityln  his  behalf  Lady  Pelham,  though  conscious  that 
th'.s  authority  had  no  existence,  was  flattered  by  having  power  as- 
cribed to  her,  and  promised  at  some  convenient  season  to  interfere. 
Finding lierself,  however,  considerably  embarrassed  by  a  promise 
which  she  could  not  fulfil  without  hazarding  the  loss  of  Laura,  she 
was  not  sorry  that  an  opportunity  occurred  of  evading  the  per- 
formance of  her  agreement.  She  therefore  acquainted  Hargrate 
v.'ith  Laura's  recent  discoveiy,  declaring  that  she  could  not  ask 
her  niece  to  overlook  entirely  so  great  an  irregularity.  From  a  re- 
gard to  tlie  promise  of  secrecy  which  she  had  given  to  Laura,  as 
well  as  in  common  prudence,  Lady  Pelham  had  resolved  not  to 
mention  the  De  Courcy  family  as  the  fountain  from  which  she  had 
drawn  her  intelligence.  Principle  and  prudence  sometimes  go- 
verned her  ladyship's  resolutions,  but  seldom  swayed  her  practice. 
In  the  first  interview  with  Hargrave  which  followed  this  rational 
determination,  she  was  led  by  the  mere  vanity  of  a  babbler  to  give 
sucb  hints  as  not  only  enabled  liim  to  trace  the  story  of  his  shame 
to  Norwood,  but  inclined  him  to  fix  the  publishing  of  it  upon  Mon- 
tague. 

From  the  moment  when  Hargrave  first  unjustly  suspected  Laura 
of  a  preference  for  De  Courcy,  his  heart  had  rankled  with  an  en- 
n>Ity  wliich  a  sense  of  its  ingratitude  served  only  to  aggravate. — 
The  cool  disdain  with  which  De  Courcy  treated  him — a  strong 
suspicion  of  liis  attachment — above  all,  Laura's  avowed  esteem  and 
regard — inflamed  tiiis  enmity  to  the  bitterest  hatred.  Hopeless  as 
he  was  of  succeeding  in  his  designs  by  any  fair  or  honourable 
means,  lie  might  have  entertained  thoughts  of  relincjuishing  his 
suit ;  and  of  seeking,  in  a  match  of  interest,  the  means  of  escape 
from  his  embarrassments  :  but  that  Laura,  with  all  her  unequalled 
charms,  sl)Ould  be  the  prize  of  De  Courcy,  that  in  her  he  should 
obtain  .all  that  beauty,  affluence,  and  love  could  give,  was  a  thought 
not  to  be  endured.  Lady  Pelham,  too,  more  skilled  to  practise  on 
the  passions  of  others  than  to  command  her  own,  was  constantly 
cxciiing  him,  by  hints  of  De  Courcy's  progress  in  the  favour  or" 
Laura;  while  Lambert,  wean"  of  waiting  fin- tlie  tedious  accom- 
plishment of  his  own  scheme,  continually  goaded  him,  with  Siv 
sarcasms  on  his  fiulure  in  the  arts  of  persuasion,  and  on  his  p;;- 
lience  in  submitting  to  be  baffleil  in  h>s  wishes  by  a  haughty  girl. 
In  the  heat  of  his  irritation,  HaruTave  'o'len  s-Aore  that  no  powe: 


149 

on  earth  Should  long  dday  the  gratification  of  his  love  and  his  re- 
venge. But  to  marry  a  free-bom  British  woman  against  her  con- 
sent, is,  in  these  enlightened  tinies,  an  affair  of  some  difficulty  ; 
and  Uargrave,  in  his  cooler  moments,  perceived  that  the  object  of 
three  years*  eager  pm'suit  was  farther  than  ever  from  his  attain- 
ment. 

Fortune  seemed  in  every  respect  to  oppose  the  fulfilment  of  his 
designs,  for  his  regiment  at  this  time  received  orders  to  prepare  to 
embark  for  America  ;  and  Lord  Lincourt,  who  had  discovered  his 
nephew's  ruinous  connexion  with  Lambert,  had  influence  to  pro- 
cure, from  high  authority,  a  hint  that  Hargrave  would  be  expected 
to  attend  his  duty  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  news  of  this  arrangement  Hargrave  immediately  conveyed 
to  Lady  Pelham,  urging  her  to  sanction  any  means  which  could  be 
devised  for  making  Laura  the  companion  of  his  voyage.  Lady  Pel- 
ham  hesitated  to  carry  her  complaisance  so  far;  but  she  resolved 
to  make  the  utmost  use  of  the  time  which  intervened  to  promote 
the  designs  of  her  favourite.  Her  ladyship  was  not  at  any  time 
muci)  addicted  to  the  communication  of  pleasurable  intelligence, 
and  the  benevolence  of  her  temper  was  not  augmented  by  apros- 
f»ect  of  the  defeat  of  a  plan  in  which  her  vanity  was  so  much  inte- 
rested. She  therefore  maliciously  withheld  from  her  niece  a  piece 
of  information  so  likely  to  be  heard  with  joy.  It  reached  Laura, 
however,  by  means  of  one  who  was  ever  watchful  for  her  gratifi- 
cation. T)e  Courcy  no  sooner  ascertained  the  truth  of  the  report, 
ihan  he  hastened  to  convey  it  to  Laura. 

He  found  her  alone,  and  was  welcomed  v/ith  all  her  accustomed 
cordiality.  "  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  with  a  smile  which  conti-adicted 
his  words,  •*  I  am  sorry  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news  to  you;  but  I 
could  not  deny  myself  the  edification  of  witnessing  your  fortiiude. 
Do  you  know  that  you  are  on  the  point  of  losing  tlxe  most  assidu- 
ous admirer  that  ever  woman  was  blessed  with  ?  In  three  weeks 
Colonel  Hargrave  embarks  for  America.  Nay,  do  not  look  incre- 
dulous. I  assure  you  it  is  true.**  "  Thank  heaven,"  cried  Laura, 
**I  shall  once  more  be  in  peace  and  safety  1^  *•  Oh,  fie  I  Is  this 
your  regret  for  so  ardent  a  lover  I  Have  you  no  feeling  ?"  "  Just 
such  a  feeling  as  the  poor  man  had  when  he  escaped  from  beneath 
the  sword  that  hung  by  a  hair.  Indeed,  Mr.  De  Courcy^  I  cannot 
tell  you  to  what  a  degree  he  has  embittered  the  two  last  years  of 
my  life.  But  I  believe,*' continued  she,  blushing  very  deeply,  "I 
lieed  not  explain  to  you  any  of  my  feelings  towards  Colonel  Har- 
grave, since  I  find  you  have  I  know  not  what  strange  faculty  of  di- 
vining them.'*  Assisted  by  a  conversation  which  he  had  had  with 
bis  sister,  De  Courcy  easily  understood  Laura's  meaning.  Re- 
spectfully taking  her  baud,  "  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  if  1  have  ever  ventured  to  guess  what  it  was  your  wish  to  conceal 
from  me.**  *'  Oh,  believe  me,**  cried  Laura,  with  a  countenance 
' -d  rnamier  of  mingled  candour  and  modesty,  "  there  is  not  ». 

N  2 


150 

Ihought  of  myiieait  that  I  wish  to  conceal  from  yoa  ,  huiuc  ii u^u 
you,  even  my  most  humbling'  weaknesses  are  sure  of  meeting  with 
delicacy  and  indulgence.  But  since  you  are  so  good  an  augur," 
added  she,  with  an  ingenuous  &mile,  "  I  trust  you  perceive  that  I 
shall  need  no  more  delicacy  or  indulgence  upon  the  same  score,'* 
The  fascinating  sweetness  of  her  looks  and  voice,  for  the  first  time 
beguiled  De  Courcy  of  his  promised  caution.  *'  Dear,  dear  Laura," 
he  cried,  fondly  pressing  her  hand  to  his  breast,  "  it  is  I  who  have 
need  of  indulgence,  and  I  must — I  must  sue  for  it.  I  must  repeat 
to  you  that"— Laura's  heart  sprung  to  her  lips,  and  unconsciously 
snatching  away  her  hand,  she  stood  in  breathless  expectation  of 
what  was  to  follow.  "  Madman,  that  I  am  !"  cried  De  Coiircy,  re- 
called to  recollection  by  her  gesture — *'  whither  am  I  venturing  '."' 
That  was  precisely  what  of  all  things  Laura  was  most  desirons  to 
know ;  and  she  remained  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  half 
dreading  the  confidence,  half  the  timidity  of  her  lover.  A  momen- 
tary glance  at  the  speaking  countenance  of  Laura,  glowing  with 
confusion,  yet  brightened  with  trembling  pleasure,  awakened  the 
strongest  hopes  that  ever  had  warmed  De  Courcy's  bosom.  "  Be- 
loved Laura,"  said  he,  again  tenderly  approaching  her,  "  remem- 
ber, I  am  but  human.  Cease  to  treat  me  with  this  beguiling  con- 
fidence. Cease  to  bewitch  me  with  these  smiles,  which  are  so  like 
all  that  I  wish,  or  suffer  me  to" — Laura  started,  as  her  attention 
was  drawn  by  some  one  passing  close  to  the  ground  window  near 
which  they  were  standing  "  Ah  !"  cried  she,  in  a  tone  of  vexa- 
tion, "  there  is  my  evil  genius.  Colonel  Hargrave  is  come  into  the 
house.  He  will  be  here  this  instant.  Excuse  me  for  driving  you 
away.    I  beseech  you  do  not  remain  a  moment  alone  with  him." 

Laura  was  not  iTiistaken.  She  had  scarcely  spoken,  ere,  with  a 
dark  cloud  on  his  brow,  Hargrave  entered.  He  bowed  to  Laura, 
who  was  advancing  towards  the  door.  "  I  am  afraid,  Madam,  I 
interrupt  you,"  said  he,  darting  a  ferocious  scowl  upon  De  Cour- 
cy. Laura,  without  deigning  even  a  single  glance  in  reply,  left 
the  room.  Hargrave,  as  he  passed  the  window,  had  observed  the 
significant  attitude  of  the  lovers  ;  and  his  jealousy  and  rage  were 
inflamed  to  the  uttermost  by  the  scorn  which  he  had  endured  in 
the  presence  of  his  rival.  Fiercely  stalking  up  to  De  Courcy, 
**  Is  it  to  you.  Sir,"  said  he,  "that  I  am  indebted  for  this  inso- 
lence ?"  "  No,  Sir,"  answered  De  Courcy,  a  little  disdainfully, 
**  I  have  not  the  honour  of  regulating  Miss  Montreville's  civili- 
ties." "  This  is  a  paltry  evasion,"  cried  Hargrave.  "Is  it  not  to 
your  misrepresentations  of  a  youthful  indiscretion  that  I  owe  Miss 
Montreville's  present  displeasure  ?"  "  I  am  not  particularly  am- 
bitious of  the  character  of  an  informer,"  answered  De  Courcy  ; 
and  taking  his  hat,  wished  Hargrave  a  stately  good  morning. 
"  Stay,  Sir  !"  cried  Hargrave,  roughly  seizing  him  by  the  arm.  "  I 
roust  have  some  further  conversation  with  you — You  don't  go 
yet."    "  I  am  not  disposed  to  ask  your  permission,"  returned  De 


151 

Courcy  ;  and  coolly  liberating"  his  arm,  walked  out  of  the  house. 
Boiling"  with  rage,  Hargrave  ^liov/ed  him.  **  It  \s  easy  to  see, 
•Sir,"  said  he,  "  from  whence  you  borrow  a  s])irit  that  never  was 
lutural  to  you — Your  presumption  builds  upon  the  partiality  oi' 
hat  fickle  capricious  woman.  But  observe.  Sir,  that  1  have  claiirs 
on  her  ;  claims  which  she  herself  was  too  happy  in  allowing' ;  and 
no  man  shall  dare  to  interfere  with  them,"  "  I  shall  dare,"  re« 
turned  De  Courcy,  anger  kindling-  in  his  eyes,  *'  to  inquire  by  what 
lig'ht  }'ou  employ  such  expressions  in  reg-ard  to  Miss  Montreville  ; 
ami  whether  my  spirit  be  my  own  or  i.ot,  j'oa  shall  find  it  suffi- 
cient to  prevent  your  holding-  such  languag-e  in  my  presence."  "  In 
your  presence,  or  the  presence  of  all  the  devils,"  cried  Har^ave, 
*•  1  will  maintain  my  right  ;  and,  if  you  fancy  that  it  interferes 
with  any  claim  of  yours,  you  know  how  to  obtain  satisfaction. 
There  is  but  one  way  to  decide  the  business."  "  I  am  of  your 
opinion,"  replied  De  Courcy,  "  that  there  is  one  way,  provided 
that  we  can  mutually  agree  to  abide  by  it ;  and  that  is,  an  appeal 
to  Miss  Montreville  herself."  Hargrave  turned  pale,  and  his  lip 
quivered  with  rage.  "  A  mode  of  decision,  no  doubt,"  said  he, 
**  which  }  our  vanity  persuades  you  will  be  all  in  your  favour  !  No, 
no,  .Sir,  our  quarrel  must  be  settled  by  means  in  which  even  your 
conceit  cannot  deny  my  equality."  *'  By  a  brace  of  pistols,  j'ou 
mean  of  course,"  said  Ue  Courcy,  coolly ;  "  but  I  frankly  tell  you, 
Oolonel  Hargrave,  that  my  notions  must  have  changed  before  I 
can  find  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman  in  being  murdered  ;  and 
my  principles,  before  I  shall  seek  it  in  murdering  you."  "  Curse 
on  your  hypocrisy  !"  cried  Hargrave.  "  Keep  this  canting  to  co- 
zen girls,'  and  let  me  revenge  my  wrongs  like  a  man,  or  the  world 
shall  know  you.  Sir."  "  Uo  you  imagine,"  said  De  Courcy,  with 
a  smile  of  calm  disdain,  "  that  I  am  to  be  terrified  into  doing 
what  I  tell  you  1  think  wrong,  by  the  danger  of  a  little  misrepre- 
sentation ?  You  may,  if  yo\i  think  fit,  tell  the  world  that  I  will 
not  stake  my  life  in  a  foolish  quarrel,  nor  wilfully  send  an  unre- 
penting  sinner  to  his  great  account ;  and,  if  you  go  on  to  ascribe 
for  my  forbearance  any  motive  which  is  derogatory  to  my  cha- 
racter, I  may,  if/  think  fit,  obtain  justice  as  a  peaceable  citizen 
ought ;  or  I  may  leave  you  undisturbed  the  glory  of  propagating 
a  slander  which  even  you  yourself  believe  to  be  groundless." 

De  Courcy's  coolness  served  only  to  exasperate  his  adversary. 
"  Truce  with  this  methodistical  jargon  !"  cried  he  fiercely.  "  ft 
may  impose  upon  women,  but  I  see  through  it.  Sir— see  that  it  is 
but  a  miserable  trick  to  escape  what  you  dare  not  meet."  "  Dare 
not !"  cried  De  Courcy,  lightnings  flashing  from  his  eye.  "  My 
nerves  have  failed  me,  then,  since" — He  stopped  abruptly,  for  he 
scorned  at  such  a  moment  to  remind  his  antagonist  of  tlie  coura- 
geous effort  to  which  he  owed  his  life.  *•  Since  when  ?"  cried 
Hargrave,  more  and  more  enraged,  as  the  recollection  which  De 
Courcy  had  recalled,  nlaced  before  him  the  full  turpitude  of  his 
-onduct.— ."  Do  you  think  I  owe  you  thanks  for  a  life  which  you 


152 

have  made  a  curse  tome,  by  cheatin.£^  me  of  its  dearest  pleaaui'Ci ' 
But  may  tortures  be  my  portion  if  I  do  not  foil  you !" 

The  latter  part  of  this  dialog-ue  was  carried  on  in  a  close  shady 
lane  which  branched  off' from  the  avenue  of  VValboarne.  The  dis- 
pute was  proceeding-  with  increasing-  warmth  on  both  sides  when 
it  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Laura.  From  a  window 
.she  had  observed  the  gentlemen  leave  the  house  together  ;  had 
watched  Hargrave's  angry  gestures,  and  seen  Ue  Courcy  accom- 
pany him  into  the  by-path.  The  evil  which  she  had  so  long  dread- 
ed seemed  now  on  the  point  of  completion  ;  and  alarm  leaving  no 
room  for  reserve,  she  followed  them  with  her  utmost  speed. 

**  Oh,  Mr.  De  Courcy,"  she  cried,  with  a  look  and  attitude  of 
most  earnest  supplication,  "  for  mercy  leave  this  madman  ! — If 
you  would  not  make  me  for  ever  miserable,  carry  this  no  fur- 
ther— I  entreat — I  implore  you.  Fear  for  me,  if  you  fear  not  for 
yourself."  The  tender  solicitude  for  the  safety  of  his  rival,  which 
Hargrave  imagined  her  words  and  gestures  to  express,  the  trium- 
phant delight  which  they  called  up  to  the  eyes  of  De  Courcy,  ex- 
asperated Hargrave  beyond  all  bounds  of  self-command.  Fran- 
tic With  jealousy  and  rage,  he  drew,  and  rushed  fiercely  on  De 
Courcy ;  but  Montague  having  neither  fear  nor  anger  to  disturb 
his  presence  of  mind,  parried  the  thrust  with  his  cane,  closed 
with  his  adversary  before  he  could  recover,  wrested  the  weapon 
from  his  hand  ;  and  having  calmly  ascertained  that  no  pers!ie=n 
could  be  injured  by  its  fall,  threw  it  over  the  fence  into  the  ad- 
joining field.  Then  taking  Hargrave  aside,  he  whispered  tli at  he 
would  immediately  return  to -him  ;  and,  giving  his  arm  to  Laura, 
led  her  towards  the  house. 

She  trembled  violently,  and  big  tears  rolled  down  her  colour- 
less cheeks,  as,  vainly  struggling  with  her  emotion,  she  said, 
**  Surely  you  will  not  endanger  a  life  so  precious,  so" — She  was 
unable  to  proceed  ;  but,  laying-  her  hand  on  De  Courcy's  arm,  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  with  sucli  a  look  of  piteous  appeal  as 
reached  his  very  soul.  Enchavited  to  find  his  safety  the  object  of 
such  tender  interest,  he  again  forgot  his  caution  ;  and,  fondly 
supporting  with  his  arm  the  form  which  seemed  almost  sinking  to 
the  earth,  "  What  danger  would  I  not  undergo,"  he  cried,  "  to 
purchase  such  concern  as  this !  Be  under  no  alarm,  dear  Miss 
Montreville.  Even  if  my  sentiments  in  regard  to  duelling  were 
other  than  they  are,  no  provocation  should  tempt  me  to  implic.ite 
your  revered  name  in  a  quarrel  which  v.'ould,  from  its  very  nature, 
become  public."  Somewhat  tranquillized  by  his  words,  Lauv.i 
walked  silently  by  his  side  till  they  reached  the  house,  when,  jvi 
a  cheerful  tone,  he  bade  her  farewell  "A  short  farewell,"  said 
he,  ••  for  1  must  see  yon  again  this  evening."  Laura  could  scarce- 
ly prevail  on  herself  to  part  from  him.  *'  May  I  trust  you  ?"  said 
she,  with  a  look  of  anxiety  that  spoke  volumes.  "Securely, 
dearest  Laura,"  answered  he.  '*  He  whom  you  trust  needs  no 
other  motive  for  rectitude  '*  He  then  hastened  from  her  into  the 
field,  whither  he  had  tlu'own  Havgruve's  sword  ;  and  having  found 


it,  sprung  over  into  tlie  lane  where  he  had  left  its  owner.  Grace- 
fully  presenting"  it  to  him,  De  Coiircy  beg-ged  pardon  for  having 
deprived  him  of  it,  **  though,"  added  he,  "  1  believe  you  are  now 
rather  disposed  to  thank  me  for  preventing  the  effects  of  a  mo- 
mentary irritation."  Hargrave  took  his  sword,  and  in  surly  si- 
lenre  walked  on  ;  then,  suddenly  stopping,  he  repe.ited  that  there 
was  only  one  way  in  which  the  quarrel  could  be  decided  ;  and  ask- 
ed ))e  Courcy  whether  he  was  determined  to  refuse  him  satisfac- 
tion. *'  The  only  satisfaction.'*  returned  Ue  Courcy,  "  which  is 
consistent  with  my  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  I  will  give  you 
now,  on  the  spot.  It  is  not  to  my  information  Ihat  you  owe  Miss 
Montreville's  displeasure.  Circumstances,  which  I  own  were 
'rtrholly  foreign  to  any  consideration  of  your  interests,  induced  me 
to  keep  your  secret  almost  as  if  it  bad  been  my  own;  and  it  is 
from  others  that  she  has  learnt  a  part  of  your  conduct,  which,  you 
must  give  me  leave  to  say,  warrants,  even  on  the  ground  of  mo- 
dern honour,  my  refusal  to  treat  you  as  an  equal."  "Insolent'.'* 
cried  Hargrave.  "  Leav^  me — avoid  me,  if  you  would  not  again 
provoke  me  to  chastise  you,  unarmed  as  you  are."  •*  My  horses 
wait  for  me  at  the  gate,"  said  De  Courcy,  coolly  proceeding  by 
his  side,  "  and  your  way  seems  to  lie  in  the  same  direction  as 
mine." 

The  rera.^inde^  of  the  way  was  passed  in  silence.  At  the  gate, 
I^  Courcy  mounting  his  horse,  bid  his  rival  good  morning,  which 
the  other  returned  with  an  ungracious  bow.  De  Courcy  rode 
home,  and  Hargrave,  finding  himself  master  of  the  field,  return- 
ed to  Walbotirne.  There  he  exerted  his  utmost  influence  with 
Lady  Pel  ham  to  procure  an  opportunity  of  excusing  himself  to 
liaura.  Lady  Pelham  confessed  that  she  could  not  venture  to  take 
the  tone  of  command,  lest  she  should  drive  Laura  to  seek  shelter 
elsewhere  ;  but  she  promised  to  contrive  an  occasion  for  an  inter- 
view which  he  might  prolong  at  his  pleasure,  provided  such  a  one 
could  be  found  without  Iter  apparent  interference.  With  this  pi'o- 
mise  he  was  obliged  for  the  present  to  content  himself,  for  during 
his  stay,  La\ira  did  not  appear.  She  passed  the  day  in  disquiet. 
She  could  not  rest.  She  could  not  employ. herself.  She  dreaded 
lest  the  interview  of  the  morning  should  have  been  only  preparato- 
ry to  one  of  more  serious  consequence.  She  told  herself  a  hundred 
times  that  she  was  sure  of  De  Courcy*s  principles  ;  and  yet  feared 
as  if  they  had  been  unworthy  of  confidence.  He  had  promised  to 
see  her  in  the  evening,  and  she  anxiously  expected  the  perform- 
ance of  his  promise.  She  knew  that  if  he  came  wl\'e  Lady  Pel- 
hara  was  in  tlie  way,  her  ladyship  would  be<too  vigilant  a  guard 
to  let  one  confidential  word  be  exchanged.  She  therefore,  with  a 
half- pardonable  cuniiing,  said  not  a  word  of  De  Courcy's  promis- 
ed visit ;  and  as  soon  as  her  aunt  betook  herself  to  her  afternoon's 
nap,  stole  from  the  drawing-room  to  receive  him.  Yet  perhaps 
she  never  met  him  witli  less  semblance  of  cordiality.  She  blush- 
ed and  stammered  vv bile  she  expressed  her  hopes  that  the  morn- 
ing*s  dispute  was  to  have  no  further  consequences,  and  apologized 


154 

for  tlie  interest  she  took  in  it,  in  language  more  cold  than  she 
would  have  used  to  a  mere  stranger.  Scarcely  could  the  expres- 
sion of  tenderness  have  delighted  the  lover  like  this  little  ill-con- 
certed affectation,  the  first  and  the  last  which  he  ever  witnessed 
in  Laura  Montreville.  "  Ah,  dearest  Laura,"  cried  he,  "  it  is  too 
late  to  retract — You  have  said  that  my  safety  was  dear  to  you ; 
owned  that  it  was  for  me  you  feared  this  morning,  and  you  shall 
not  cancel  your  confession."  Laura's  colour  deepened  to  crim- 
son, but  she  made  no  other  reply.  Then,  with  a  more  timid  voice 
and  air,  De  Gourcy  said,  "  I  would  have  told  you  theii  what  deoi- 
presumptuous  hopes  your  anxiety  awakened,  but  that  1  feared  to 
extort  from  your  agitation  what  perhaps  a  cooler  moment  might 
refuse  me.  My  long-loved,  ever  dear  Laura,  will  you  pardon  me 
tliese  hopes  ?  Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ? — Not  one  little  word  to 
tell  me  that  I  am  not  too  daring."  Laura  spoke  not  even  that  little 
word.  She  even  made  a  faint  struggle  to  withdraw  the  hand  which 
De  Gourcy  pressed.  Yet  the  lover  read  the  expression  of  her  half- 
averted  face,  and  was  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

**  Pray,"  said  Lady  Pelham  to  her  niece,  **  what  might  you  and 
your  paragon  be  engaged  in  for  the  hour  and  a  half  you  were  to- 
gether this  evening  ?" 

*'  We  were  discussing  a  very  important  subject.  Madam,"  an- 
swered Laura,  mustering  all  her  confidence. 

»*  May  I  be  permitted  to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  it  ?"  re- 
turned Lady  Pelham,  covering  her  spleen  with  a  thin  disguise  of 
ceremony. 

"  Certainly,  Madam,"  replied  Laura.  "  You  may  remember  I 
once  told  you  that  if  ever  I  received  addresses  which  I  could  with 
honour  reveal,  I  should  bespeak  your  ladyship's  patience  for  my 
tale.  Mr.  De  Courcy  was  talking  of  marriage,  Madam  r  and — 
and  I—" 

"  Oh,  mighty  well,  Miss  Montreville,"  cried  Lady  Pelham,  swell- 
ing  with  rage,  "  I  comprehend  you  perfectly.  You  may  spare 
your  modesty.  Keep  all  these  airs  and  blushes  till  you  tell  Colo- 
nel Hargrave  that  all  your  fine  high-flown  passion  for  him  has  been 
quite  at  the  service  of  the  next  man  you  met  with  !" 

Laura's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  mortification,  yet  she  meekly 
answered,  **  1  am  conscious  that  the  degradini;-  attachment  of 
which  I  was  once  the  sport  merits  your  upbraidings  ;  and  indeed 
they  have  not  been  its  least  punishment."  She  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  added,  with  an  insinuating  smile,  "  I  carf  bear 
-hat  you  should  reproach  mc  with  my  new  choice,  fji-  inconstaRcy 


155 

is  tlie  prescriptive  right  of  woman,  and  nothing  else  can  be  ob- 
jected to  my  present  views." 

*•  Oh,  far  be  itfioin  me,"  cried  Lady  Pclham,  scorn  and  anger 
growing  lier  whole  little  person  into  active  motion,  "  far  be  it 
from  me  to  make  any  objection  to  your  immaculate  swain  !  I 
would  have  you  understand,  however,  that  no  part  of  my  proper- 
ty shall  go  to  enrich  a  parcel  of  proud  beggars.  It  was  indeed  my 
intention,  if  you  had  made  a  proper  match,  to  give  yon  the  little 
all  that  1  have  to  bestow;  but  if  you  prefer  starving  with  your 
methodist  parson  to  being  the  heiress  of  five-and-forty  thousand 
pounds,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  However,  you  liad  better  keep 
your  own  secret.  The  knowledge  of  it  might  probably  alter  Mr. 
i)e  Courcy's  plans  a  little." 

"  Your  ladyship,"  answered  Laura,  with  spirit,  "has  good  ac- 
cess to  know  that  the  love  of  wealthh'as  little  influence  on  my  pm-- 
poses ;  and  «  assure  you  that  Mr.  De  Courcy  would  scorn  upon  any 
terms  to  appropriate  what  he  considers  as  the  unalienable  right  of 
your  own  child.  Though  we  shall  not  be  alRuent,  we  shall  be  too 
rich  for  your  cliarity,  and  tliat  is  the  only  claim  in  which  I  could 
compete  with  Mrs.  Herbert." 

This  mention  of  her  daughter  exasperated  Lady  Pelham  to  fury. 
In  a  voice  half  choaked  with  passion,  she  cried,  "  Neither  that  re- 
bellious wretch,  nor  any  of  her  abettors  or  imitators  shall  ever  have 
countenance  or  assistance  from  me  No!  Not  though  they  sliould 
beg  with  their  starved  bantlings  from  door  to  door."  To  this  in- 
teniijerate  speech  Laura  made  no  reply,  but  quietly  began  to  pour 
out  the  tea.  Lady  Pelham  continued  to  hurry  up  and  down  the 
room,  chafing,  and  venting  her  rage  in  common  abuse  ;  for  a  scold 
in  a  drawing-room  is  not  very  unlike  a  scold  at  a  green-stall.  The 
storm  meeting  with  no  opposition,  at  length  spent  itself;  or  sub- 
sided into  short  growlings,  uttered  at  the  intervals  of  a  surly  si- 
lence. To  these,  us  no  answer  was  absolutely  necessary,  none  was 
returned.  Laura  did  not  utter  a  syllabic,  till  Lady  Pelham's  wrath 
beginning  to  give  place  to  her  ciu"iosity,  she  turned  to  her  niece, 
sa}ing,  "  Pray,  .Miss  Montreville,  when  and  where  is  this  same 
wise  marriage  of  yours  to  tr^ke  place  V* 

"  The  time  is  not  quite  fixed.  Madam,"  answered  Laura.  "As 
soon  as  you  can  conveniently  spare  me,  I  intend  going  to  Scotland; 
and  when  you,  and  .Mrs.  De  Courcy  wish  me  to  return,  Mr.  De 
Courcy  will  escort  me  back." 

"I  spare  you!"  returned  Lady  Pelham  with  a  sneer — "Oh, 
Ma'am,  if  that  is  all,  pray  don't  let  me  retard  your  raptures.  You 
may  go  to-mon-ow,  or  to-night,  Ma'am,  if  you  please.— Spare  you, 
indeed !  Truly,  while  I  can  afford  to  pay  a  domestic,  I  need  not  be 
dependent  on  your  assistance ;  and,  in  attachment  or  gratitude, 
any  common  servant  may  supply  your  place.'' 

The  rudeness  and  ingratitude  of  this  speech  again  forced  the 
tears  to  Lama's  eyes  ;  but  she  mildly  replied,  "  Well,  Madam,  as 
soon  as  you  find  a  substitute  for  me,  1  shall  be  ready  to  depart," 
Then  to  escape  further  insult  she  quitted  the  room. 


156 

l^ady  Pelham's  wrath  at  the  derangement  of  her  plan  would  nol 
suffer  her  to  rest  till  she  had  communicated  the  disaster  to  Colonel 
Tlargrave.  Early  next  morning-,  accordingly,  she  dispatched  a 
note  requiring  his  immediate  presence  at  Walboux'no,  He  obey^ 
the  summons,  and  was  as  usual  privately  received  by  I^ady  Pelhanr. 
He  listened  to  her  intelligence  with  transpoits  of  rage  rather  than 
of  sorrow.  He  loaded  his  rival  with  execrations,  declaring  that  he 
would  rather  see  Laura  torn  in  pieces  than  know  her  to  be  the 
wife  of  De  Courcy.  He  sv/ore  that  he  would  circumvent  their 
schemes,  and  that  though  his  life  should  be  the  forfeit,  he  would 
severely  revenge  the  sufferings  he  had  endured. 

Lady  Pelhani  had  not  courage  to  encounter  the  evil  spirit  which 
she  had  raised.  Subdued,  and  crouching'  before  his  violence,  she 
continued  to  give  a  terrified  assent  to  every  extra>  agance  he  utter- 
ed, till  he  announced  his  resolution  of  seeing  Laura  on  the  instant, 
that  he  might  know  whether  she  dared  to  confirm  this  odious  tale. 
Lady  Pelham  then  ventured  to  represent  to  him  that  Laura  might 
be  so  much  offended  by  this  brei'.ch  of  contract,  as  to  take  refuge 
with  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  a  measure  wliich  would  oppose  a  new  obsta- 
cle to  any  scheme  for  breaking  oft  the  intended  marriage.  She 
assured  him  that  she  would  grant  every  reasonable  assistance  in 
preventing  a  connexion  so  injurious  to  her  niece's  interest,  though 
she  knew  Laura's  obstinacy  of  temper  too  w'ell  to  hope  an\  thing 
irom  direct  resistance.  She  hinted  that  it  would  be  most  prudent 
to  give  the  desired  interview  the  apper.rance  of  accident,  and  she 
promised  to  contrive  the  occasion  as  soon  as  Hargrave  was  suiR- 
ciently  calm  to  consider  of  improving  it  to  the  best  advantage. 

But  calm  was  a  stranger  to  the  breast  of  Hargrave.  The  dis- 
quiet which  is  the  appointed  portion  of  the  wicked,  raged  there  be- 
yond controul.  To  tlie  anguish  of  disappointment  were^dded  the 
pangs  of  jealousy,  and  the  heart-burnings  of  hatred  and  revenge. 
Even  the  loss  of  the  object  of  three  years'  eager  pursuit  was  less 
cutting  than  the  success  of  De  Courcy ;  and  the  pain  of  a  forfeiture 
which  was  the  just  punishment  of  a  former  crime,  was  heightened 
to  agony  by  the  workings  of  such  passions  as  consummate  the 
misery  of  fiends. 

The  associates  of  the  wicked  must  forego  the  consolations  of 
honest  sympatiiy.  All  Hargra^e's  tortures  were  aggravated  by 
the  sarcasms  of  Lambert;  who,  willi)ig  to  hasten  the  fever  to  itfj 
crisis,  goaded  him  with  coarse  comments  upon  the  good  fortune  of 
his  rival,  and  advices  (which  he  well  knew  would  act  in  a  direct 
opposite  to  their  seeming  pui-pose)  to  desist  from  further  conipc- 
tition.  After  spending  four-and-twenty  hours  in  alternate  fits  of 
rage  and  despair,  Hfu:grave  returned  to  Lady  Pelham,  informing 
her,  that  wiiatever  were  the  conseqtience,  he  would  no  longer  de- 
lay seeing  Laura.  Liidy  Pelham  had  foreseen  this  demand ;  and, 
though  not  without  fear  of  the  event,  had  prepared  for  compliance. 
She  had  already  arranged  her  scheme,  and  the  execution  was 
easy. 


V5t 

Laura's  favourite  walk,  in  the  shrubbery  led  to  a  little  suuimt. 
house,  concealed  in  a  ihickct  of  acacias.  Thither  I«ady  Pelham 
had  conveyed  some  dried  plants,  and  had  requested  Laura's  assist- 
ance in  classing'  them.  Laura  had  readify  agreed,  and  that  very 
morning'  had  been  allotted  for  the  task.  Lady  Pelham,  having  first 
directed  Hurgrave  where  to  take  his  station,  accompanied  her  un- 
suspecting niece  to  th^  summer  house,  and  there  for  a  while  joined 
in  her  employment.  Soon,  however,  feigning  a  pretext  for  half  an 
hour's  absence,  she  quitted  Laura,  intending  at  first  to  loiter  in  the 
shrubbery,  as  a  kind  of  safeguard  against  the  ill  consequences  of 
her  imprudent  connivance ;  but  meeting  with  a  gardener  who  was 
going  to  transplant  a  bed  of  favourite  auriculas',  she  followed  him 
to  watch  over  their  safety,  leaving  her  niece  to  guard  her  own. 

Scarcely  had  Laura  been  a  minute  alone,  ere  she  was  startled  by 
the  entrance  of  Hargrave,  and  seriously  alarmed  by  seeing  him 
lock  the  door,  and  deliberately  secure  the  key.  **  What  is  it  }  ou 
mean,  Sir  ?'*  said  she,  trembl'mg. 

**  To  decjde  your  fate  and  mine  !*'  answered  Hargrave,  with  ,a 
loc^  and  voice  that  struck  terror  to  her  soul.  *'  I  am  told  you  are 
a  Bride  Laura,"  said  he,  speaking  through  his  clenched  teeth. 
*' Say;^'  continued  he,  firmly  grasping  her  arm.  "Speak!  is  it 
so  ?" 

I  know  no  right,"  said  Laura,  recovering  herself,  "that  you 
have  to  question  me — nor  meanly  thus  to  steal — " 

"  No  evasions  !"  interrupted  Hargrave,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 
"1  have  rights — rights  which  I  will  maintain  while  I  have  being. 
Now  tell  me,  if  you  dare,  that  }'ou  have  transferred  them  to  that 
abhorred — " 

He  stopped, — his  utterance  choaked  by  the  frenzv  into  which  he 
had  worked  himself.  *'  What  has  transported  you  to  this  fury. 
Colonel  Hargi-ave  ?"  said  Laura,  calmly.  **  Surely  you  must  be 
sensible,  that  whatever  claims  I  might  once  have  allowed  you, 
have  long  since  been  made  void  by  your  own  conduct.  I  will  not 
talk  to  you  of  principle,  though  that  were  of  itself  sufficient  to 
sever  us  for  ever  ;  but  ask  yourself  what  ri^ht  you  can  retain  over 
the  woman  whom  you  have  insulted,  and  forsaken,  and  oppressed, 
and  outraged  ?" 

"  Spare  your  taunts,  Laura.  They  will  only  embitter  the  hour 
of  retribution.  And  may  hell  be  my  portion,  if  I  be  not  richly  re- 
paid for  all  the  scorn  you  have  heaped  upwi  me.  I  will  be  revenged, 
proud  woman.  You  shall  be  at  my  mercy,  where  no  cool  canting 
villain  can  wrest  you  from  me  !'*  *      ,..,     , 

His  threats,  and  the  frightful  violence  with'^i^faiek  they  were  ut- 
tered, filled  I  .aura  with  mingled  dread  ami  pity.  **  Command  your- 
self, I  beseech  you.  Colonel  Hargrave,"  suid  she.  "  If  you  resent 
the  pain  which,  believe  me,  I  have  most  unwillingly  occasioned, 
yon  are  amply  revenged.  You  havfe  affea4y  caused  me  s«fferings 
which  mock  description." 

"  Yes,  yes-  I  know  it,"  cried  Hargrave  in  anuider  voice,  "  You 
were  not  then  so  hard.     You  could  feel  when  tbat^ie  wanton  firsl 

o 


158 

seduced  me  from  you.  Then  think  what  I  nosv  endure,  when  th»s 
coid-blooded— but  may  I  perish  if  I  do  not  snatch  his  prize  from 
him.  And  think  not  of  resistance,  Laura  ;  for,  by  all  that  I  have 
suHered,  resistance  shall  be  vain." 

**  Why  do  you  talk  so  dreadfully  to  me  ?"  said  Laura,  making 
a  trembling-  effort  to  release  her  arm,  which  he  still  fiercely  grasp- 
ed. •*  Why,  why,  will  you  not  cease  to  persecute  me  ?  1  have  ne- 
ver injured  you.  I  have  forgiven,  pitied,  jJrayed  for  you.  How 
have  I  deserved  this  worse  than  savage  cruelty  ?'* 

"  Laura,"  said  Hargrave,  moved  by  the  pleadings  of  a  voice 
which  would  have  touched  a  murderer's  heart,  "  you  have  still  a 
choice.  Promise  to  be  mine.  Permit  me  only  by  slow  degrees,  to 
regain  what  I  have  lost.  Say  that  months — that  years  hence  you 
will  consent,  and  you  are  safe." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Laura.  **  I  cannot  bind  myself.  Nor  could 
you  trust  a  promise  extorted  by  fear.  Yet  be  but  half  what  1  once 
thought  you,  and  t  \rill  esteem" — 

"  Esteem  !"  interrupted  Hargrave,  with  a  ghastly  smile.  "  Yes  ! 
And  shrink  from  me,  as  you  do  now,  while  you  hang  on  tliat  de- 
tested wretch  till  even  his  frozen  heart  warms  to  passion.  Nor!" 
continued  he,  with  an  awful  adjuration,  **  though  the  deed  bring 
me  to  the  scaffold,  you  shall  be  mine.  You  shall  be  my  wife,  too, 
Laura — but  not  till  you  have  besought  me — sued  at  my  feet  for  the 
title  you  haVe'so  often  despised.  1  will  be  master  of  ^our  fate,  of 
that  reputation,  that  virtue  which  you  worship — and  your  minion 
shall  know  it,  that  he  may  writhe  under  jealousy  and  disappoint- 
ment." 

"  Powers  of  Mercy  1"  cried  Laura,  raising  her  eyes  in  strong 
compunction,  **  have  I  made  this  mine  idol!"  Then  turning  on 
Hargrave  a  look  of  deep  repentance,  "  Yes,  *  she  continued,  "I 
deserve  to  see  thee  as  thou  art,  without  mitigation  vile  ;  since  on 
thee  my  sacrilegious  heart  bestowed  such  love  as  was  due  to  the 
Infinite  alone." 

**  Oh,  Laura."  cried  Hargrave,  softened  by  the  remembrance  of 
her  youthful  affection,  *'  let  but  one  faint  spark  of  that  love  revive, 
and  1  will  forget  all  your  scorns,  and  feel  again  such  gentle  wishes 
as  blest  OHr  first  hours  of  tenderness.  Or  only  swear  that  you  will 
renounce  that  bane  of  my  existence — that  you  will  shrink  from 
him,  shun  him  like  a  serpent  ?— Or  give  me  your  word  only,  and  I 
v.-ill  trust  it.  Your  liberty,  your  person,  shall  be  sacred  as  thqse 
of  angels.     Promise  then"— 

**  Why  do  you  attempt  to  terrify  me  ?'"  said  Laura,  her  indigna- 
-;on  rising  as  her  alarm  subsided.  "  I  have  perhaps  no  longci  the 
right — even  if  I  had  the  inclination — to  utj.er  such  a  vow.  I  trust 
tiiat  in  this  land  of  freedom,  I  am  safe  from  your  violence.  My  re- 
putation, frail  as  it  is,  you  cannot  hatln  without  permission  from 
on  high  ;  and  if,  for  wise  purposes,' the  permission  be  given,  I 
doubt  not  that  I  shall  be  enabled  to  bear  unjust  reproach — na\v 
wan  to  profit  by  tlie  wTc-.np-," 


159 

na-.>,i\oL  iui.eiea  her  to  conclude  ;  rag-e  bereft  lum To i-  a  irme, 
of  the  power  of  utterAhce.  Then,  burstinjy  into  a  torrent  of  reproach, 
he  upbraided  her  in  lang'uag'e  the  most  insulting-.  **I3o  you  dare  to 
own,"  said  he,  *'that  yoiir  base  inclinations  favour  that  abhorred — 
that  this  accursed  marriage  is  your  choice— -jour  free  choice  ?" — 
lie  paused  in  vain  for  a  i'eplvl  Laura  would  not  irritate  him  fur- 
ther, and  scorned  to  disgtiisfe  the  truth.  "  Then,  Laura,"  said  ho^ 
and  he  confirmed  thfe  sentence  with  a  dreadful  oath,  *•  jou  liave 
sealed  your  fate.  Thi»Vk*you  that  your  l)e  Courcy  shall  foil  me  ? 
By  Heaven,  1  will  see  you.  perish  first.  I  will  tear  you  from  him, 
though  1  answer  it  with  my  life  and  soul.  Let  this  be  the  pledge  of 
my  triumph" — and  he  mads  a  motion  to  clasp  her  rudely  in  his 
aiMTTs.  With  a  cry  of  dread  and  horror,  Laura  sprung-  from  him, 
and,  throwing  open  the  casemefjt,  called  loudly  for  assistance. — 
Harg-rave  forced  her  back;  **  Spare  your  alarms,  my  lovely  proud 
one,"  said  he,  v»'ith  a  smile,  which  made  her  blood  run  cold,  "  You 
are  safe  till  me  meet  where  cries  will  be  useless.  "What  ?  may  I 
not  even  kiss  this  pretty  hand,  as  earnest  that  you  shall  soon  be 
mine  beyond  the  power  of  fate  ?'*  "Silence,  audacious!"  cried 
Laura,  bursting  into  tears  of  mingled  fear  and  indignation,  while 
she  struggled  violently  to  disengage  her  hands.  *'  Nay,  this  rosy 
clieek  will  coiitent  me  better,"  cried  Hargrave,  and  was  again  at- 
tempting- to  clasp  her — when  the  door  wa;5  burst  suddenly  open, 
and  I>e  Courcy  appeared. 

"  Ruffian  !"  he  exclaimed,  approaching  Hargrave,  who,  in  his 
surprise,  permitted  his  prey  to  escape.  Her  fears  now  taking  a 
new  direction,  Laura  flew  to  intercept  De  Courcy.  **  Ah  !"  she 
cried,  "  my  folly  has  done  this.  Fly  from  this  madman,  I  entreat 
you.     I  have  nothing  to  fear  but  for  you.    Begone,  T  implore  you." 

"  And  leave  you  to  such  treatment  ?  Not  while  I  have  life  ! — 
When  vo;i  choose  to  go,  I  will  attend  you.  For  you,  Sir  ! — But  I 
must  stoop  below  the  language  of  a  gentleman  ere  I  find  words  to 
describe  3our  condtict."      ' 

"  For  F-icaven's  sake,"  cried  Laura,  *'  dearDe  Courcy,  provoke 
him  no  farther.  Let  us  fly  this  place  ;"'a'nd  cling-ing  to  De  Courcy's 
arm,  she  drew  him  on ;  while,  with  the  other,  he  defended  her  from 
Hargrave,  who  had  advanced  to  detain  her.  Her  expression  of  re- 
g-ard,  her  confiding  attitude,  exasperated  tlie  frenzy  of  Hargrave 
to  tlie  uttermost.  Almost  imconscious  of  his  own  actions,  he  drew 
a  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  fired.  Laura  uttered  a  cry  of  terror, 
clasping-  her  lover's  arm  more  closely  to  her  breast.  "  Be  not 
alarmed  love,'"  whispered  l)e  Coiu'cy.  *'  It  is  nothing !" — and  stag- 
gering forward  a  few  paces,  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

I^aura,  in  desperation,  rushed  from  the  summer-house,  calling 
wildly  for  help  ;  then.  strucK  with  the  fearful  thought  that  Har- 
grave might  now  comjdete  his  bloody  work,  she  hastened  back. 
l)uring  the  few  momci\ts  of  her  absence,  De  Courcy  addressed  his 
murderer,  whose  rage  had  given  place  to  a  wild  stupor.  **  1  fear 
this  is  an  unlucky  stroke,  Hargrave.  Save  yourself.  My  horse  is 
at  the  gate  '*   Hargrave  answered  only  with  a  groan  ;  and,  striking- 


160 

his ^clend\ed  hand  on  his  Ibrnhead,  turned  aviay.  His  crinle  \v;*s 
unpremc^tUtated.  No  train  of  self-deceit  had  reconciled  his  con- 
soiree  to  its  atrocity.  The  remembrance  of  the  courage  which 
had  saved  his  life  ;  the  g-enerous  concern  of  De  Courcy  for  his 
safety  ;  humanity,  the  last  virtue  which  utterly  forsakes  us,  aU 
awakened  him  to  remorse,  keen  and  overwhelming-,  like  every  other 
passion  of  Hargrave.  Xot  bearing-  to  look  upon  his  victim,  he  stood 
iixed  and  motionless  ;  while  Laui'a,.on  her  knees,  watched,  in  dis- 
may, the  chan{>ing  countenance  of  De  Courey»ahd  strove  to  staunch 
the  blood  which  was  streaming-  from  his  v/ound. 

De  Courcy  once  more  tried  to  cheer  Laura  with  words  of  com- 
fort. "  Were  it  not,"  said  he,  *^  for  the  pleasure  this  kind  concern 
Jives  me,  I  might  tell  jtou  that  I  do  not  suffer  much  pain.  I  am 
sure  I  could  rise,  if  I  could  trust  this  slender  arm,"  laying  his  hand 
gently  upon  it.  Laura  eagerly  ogTered  her  assistance  as  he  at- 
tempted to  raise  himself ;  but  U>e  effort  overpowered  him,  and  he 
3unk  back  fainting. 

In  the  strong  language  of  terror,  Laura  now  besought  Hargrave 
to  procure  help.  Still  motionless,  his  forehead  resting  against  the 
wall,  his  hands  clenched  as  in  convulsion,  Hargrave  seemed  not  to 
heed  her  entreaties.  "  Have  you  no  mercy  ?"  cried  she,  clasping^ 
the  arm  from  which  she  had  so  lately  shrunk  in  horror.  "  He 
saved  your  life.  Will  you  let  him  peri.sh  without  aid  ?"  "  Off, 
woman  !'*  cried  Hargrave,  throwing  her  from  him.  "  Thy 
ivitchcraft  has  undone  me ;"  and  he  distractedly  hurried  away. 

Laura*8  terror  was  not  the  passive  cowardice  of  a  feeble  mind. 
She  was  left  alone  to  judge,  to  act,  for  herself— for  more  than  her- 
Sell.  Immediate,  momentous  decision  was  necessary.  And  she 
did  decide  by  an  effort  of  which  no  mind  enfeebled  by  sloth  or  self- 
ishness would  have  been  capable.  She  saw  that  loss  of  blood  was 
the  cause  of  De  Courcy*s  immediate  danger,  a  danger  which  might 
be  Irremediable  before  he  could  receive  assistance  from  more  skil- 
ful hands  than  hers.  Such  remedy,  then,  as  she  could  command 
she  hastened  to  apply^ 

To  the  plants  which  their  beauty  had  recommended  to  Lady 
Pelliam,  Laura  had  added  a  few  of  which  the  usefulness  was  known 
to  her.  Agaric  of  the  oak  was  of  the  number,  and  she  had  often 
applied  it  where  many  a  hand  less  fair  would  have  shrunk  from 
the  task.  Nor  did  she  hesitate  now.  The  ball  had  entered  near 
the  neck ;  and  the  feminine,  the  deUcatc  Laura  herself  disengaged 
the  wound  from  its  coverings ;  the  feeling,  the  tender  Laura 
herself  performed  an  office  from  which  false  sensibility  would  have 
recoiled  in  horror. 

She  was  thus  employed  when  she  was  found  by  a  woman  whom 
Hargrave  had  met  and  sent  to  her  assistance,  with  an  indistinct 
message,  from  which  Laura  gathered  that  he  was  gone  in  search 
of  a  surgeon.  The  woman  no  sooner  cast  her  eyes  on  the  bloody 
form  of  De  Courcy,  and  on  the  colourless  face  of  Laura,  more 
death-like  than  his,  thap,  with  noisy  imbecility,  she  began  to  be- 
wail and  ejaculate.     Laura,  however,  instantly  put  a  step  to  her 


161 

exclamations  hy  dispatching  her  for  cordiils  and  assistance  In  a 
few  minutes  all  the  l\ousehold  was  assembled  round  De  Courcy ; 
yet  such  was  the  general  curiosity,  horror,  or  astonishment,  that 
he  would  have  remained  unaided  but  for  the  firmness  of  her  who 
was  most  interested  in  the  scene.  She  dismissed  every  one  whose 
presence  was  unnecessary,  and  silenced  the  rost  by  a  peremptory 
command.  She  administered  a  cordial  to  recruit  the  failing 
strength  of  De  Courcy  ;  and  causing  hin\  to  be  raised  to  tlie  pos- 
ture which  seemed  the  least  painful,  made  her  own  trembling- 
arms  his  support. 

Nothing  further  now  remained  to  be  done,  and  Laura  began  to 
feel  the  full  horrors  of  her  situation  ;  to  weigh  the  fearful  proba- 
bility that  all  her  cares  were  vain  ;  to  upbraid  herself  as  the  cause 
of  this  dire  tragedy.  Her  anguish  was  too  great  to  find  relief  in 
tears.  Pale  and  cold  as  marble,  chilly  drops  bursting  from  her 
forehead,  she  sat  in  the  stillness  of  him  who  waits  the  sentence  of 
condemnation,  save  when  a  convulsive  shudder  expressed  her  suf- 
fering. 

The  mournful  quiet  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Lady 
Pelham  ;  who,  quite  out  of  breath,  began  a  string  of  questions, 
mixed  with  abundance  of  ejaculation.  "  Bless  my  soul ! '  she  cried, 
"  how  has  all  this  happened  ?  For  heaven's  sake,  Laura,  tell  me 
the  meaning  of  all  this.  Why  don't  you  speak,  girl  ?  Good  Lord  ? 
could  not  you  have  prevented  these  madmen  from  quarrelling  ] — 
What  brought  Ue  Courcy  here  ?  How  did  he  find  you  out  ?  Wliy 
don't  you  speak  ?     Mercy  on  me  !  is  the  girl  out  of  her  senses  I" 

The  expression  of  deep  distress  with  which  Laura  now  raised 
her  eyes,  reminded  Lady  Pelham  of  the  sensibility  requisite  upon 
such  an  occasion,  which  her  ladyship's  curiosity  had  hitlierto  dri- 
ven from  her  recollection.  Approaching,  therefore,  to  De  Courcy, 
she  took  a  hasty  look  of  this  dismal  spectacle;  and  exclaiming, 
"Oh  what  a  sight  is  here  !  Unfortunate  Laura  !  Dear  wretched 
girl  !"  she  began  first  to  sob,  and  then  to  scream  violently.  Laura 
motioned  to  the  attendants  to  lead  her  away  ;  and  she  suffered 
them  to  do  so  without  resistance  ;  but  she  had  no  sooner  crossed 
the  threshold,  than,  perceiving  the  spectators,  whom  curiosity 
had  collected  in  the  shrubbery,  she  redo^^ibled  her  shrieks,  strug- 
gled, beat  herself;  and,  but  for  the  untoward  strength  of  her 
nerves,  would  have  soon  converted  her  ])retended  fit  into  reality. 
Wearied  with  her  eflTorts,  she  was  beginning  to  relax  them,  when 
the  surgeon  appeared,  and  her  ladyship  was  more  vociferous  than 
ever.  Mr.  llaby,  a  quiet  sensible  man,  undertook  her  cure  before 
he  proceeded  to  liis  more  serious  business  i  and,  either  guided  by 
his  previous  acquaintance  with  his  patient,  or  by  his  experience  in 
similar  cases,  gave  a  prescription  which,  though  simple,  was  per- 
fectly efficacious.  He  directed  that  the  lady  should  be  instantly 
secluded  in  her  own  chamber,  with  only  one  attendant  ;  and  the 
iremcdy  proved  so  beneficial,  that  her  ladyship  enjoyed  a  night  of 
tranquil  repose. 

0  2 


W2 

He  next  turned  liis  altention  to  De  Caurcy ;  and  judg-inp^  it  proper 
'.o  extract  the  ball  without  delay,  advised  Laura  to  retire  Without 
opposition  she  prepared  to  obey  ;  and,  seeing-  De  Courcy  about  to 
speak,  put  her  liand  on  his  lips  to  save  him  the  exertion,  and  her- 
self the  pain  of  a  farewell.  Yet,  as  she  resided  her  charge,  raising 
her  eyes  to  lieaven,  once  more  to  commend  De  Courcy  to  the  di- 
vine protection,  tlie  fervour  of  her  supplication  burst  into  words: 
"  Oil  if  it  be  possible  !  If  it  be  possible  !" — she  cried.  "  Yes  it  is 
possible,"  said  De  Courcy,  comprehending  the  unfinished  sen- 
tence. "  Your  firmness,  noble  creature,  has  made  it  possible." 
Ueproaching  herself  with  having  allowed  De  Courcy  to  perceive 
her  alarm,  slie  hastened  away  ;  and  seating  herself  on  the  steps 
that  led  to  the  door,  awaited  in  silence  the  event  of  the  operation. 

Here,  as  she  sorrowfully  called  to  mind  the  various  excellen- 
cies of  De  Courcy,  his  piety,  his  integrity,  his  domestic  vir- 
tues, so  Lately  known,  so  soon  to  be  lost  to  her,  she  suddenly 
Pecollected  the  heavier  calamity  of  the  mother  deprived  of 
such  a  son,  and  perceived  the  inhumanity  of  permitting  the 
stroke  to  fall  without  preparation.  Having  access  to  no  messenger 
more  tender  than  a  common  servant,  she  determined,  though  with 
unspeakable  reluctance,  herself  to  bear  the  tidings  to  Mrs.  De 
Courcy.  "I  will  knovv-  the  worst,"  thought  she,  "  and  then" — 

She  stalled  at  a  faint  noise  that  sounded  from  th.e  summer-house-. 
Steps  approached  the  door  from  within.  She  sprung  up,  and  the 
surgeon  appcarec^.  "  I  have  tlie  happiness  to  tell  you,"  said  he, 
**  that  if  no  fever  take  place,  our  friend  is  safe.  The  chief  danger 
Las  been  from  loss  of  blood  ;  and  your  presence  of  mind — Ah  ! — 
Do  you  feci  faint  ?" — 

The  awful  interest  which  had  supported  the  spirits  of  Laura  thus 
suddenly  withdrawnj  the  tide  of  various  feeling  overpowered 
•  hem  ;  and  she  sunk  into  orie  of  those  long  and  deep  faintings 
which  were  now  unhappily  become  in  some  degree  constitutional 
.vith  her.  Mr.  Haby  having  given  directions  for  her  recovery, 
placed  De  Courcy  in  Lady  Pelham's  carriage,  and  himself  attend- 
ed him  to  Norwood  ;  where  he  mitigated  Mi  s.  De  Courcy's  horror 
and  distress  by  assurances  of  her  s.'.y.^.^^  safely,  whicli  he  again  de- 
lighted Montague  by  ascribing  to  the  cares  of  Laura. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  Laura  was  sufficiently  collected 
to  review?  Av'ith  composure  the  events  of  the  day  !  As  soon,  how- 
ever, as  she  was  capable  of  considering  all  the  circumstances,  a 
suspicion  occurred  that  her  unfortunate  interview  with  Ilargrave 
bad  been  sanctioned,  if  not  contrived  by  Lady  Pelham.  That  lie 
should  know  the  place  and  the  hour  in  which  he  might  surprise 
her  alone  ;  that  to  this  place,  which,  because  of  its  loneliness,  she 
had  of  late  rather  deserted,  she  should  be  conducted  by  her  aunt ; 
tl)at  at  this  moment  she  should  upon  a  trivial  pretence  be  left  in  so- 
litude— seemed  a  coincidence  too  strong  to  be  merely  accidental. 
8he  recollected  some  symptoms;  of  private  communication  between 
Lady  Pelham  and  H.argrave.  Suspicions  of  connivance  in  the  in- 
famous stratagem  of  licr  arrest  again  pcvived  in  Iter  mind.    Lady 


163 

Felham,  she  perceived,  had  afforded  her  a  protection  at  best  im- 
perfect, perhaps  treacherous.  Hargrave's  laie  tin  eats  too,  as  she 
Tevolved  them  in  her  thoughts,  appeared  more  like  the  intimations 
of  settled  design  than  the  vague  ravings  of  passion.  Prudence, 
therefore,  seemed  to  require,  that  she  should  immediately  provide 
for  her  own  safety  :  and  indignant  at  her  aunt's  breach  of  confi- 
dence, hastened  the  purpose  which  she  formed,  to  leave  Wal- 
bour^xe  without  delay.  She  determined  to  go  the  next  morning  to 
Norwood,  there  to  remain  till  De  (Joiurcy  shewed  signs  of  conva- 
lescence, and  then  perform  her  long-projected  journey  to  Scotland. 

In  order  to  avoid  uni)leasant  altercation,  slie  resolved  to  depart 
without  warning  Lady  i'elham  of  her  intention  ;  merely  announcing 
by  letter  the  reasons  of  her  conduct.  The  affectionate  Laura 
would  not  have  parted  from  the  meanest  sei*\ant  without  a  kindly 
farewell,  but  her  innate  abhorrence  of  treachery  steeled  her  heart, 
and  she  rejoiced  that  it  was  possible  to  escape  ail  present  inter- 
course with  her  deceitful  kinswoman. 

As  soon  as  the  dawn  appeared  she  arose  ;  and  on  her  knees 
thankfully  acknowledged  the  protecting  care  which  had  watched 
over  her,  since  first  as  a  destitute  orphan  she  applied  to  Lady  Pel- 
ham.  She  blessed  the  goodness  which  had  softened  in  her  favour 
a  heart  little  subject  to  benevolent  impressions,  which  had  restored 
her  in  sickness,  consoled  her  in  sorrow,  delivered  her  from  the 
snares  of  the  wicked,  and  opened  to  her  the  joys  of  virtuous  friend- 
ship. And  where  is  the  wretch  so  miserable  that  he  may  not  in 
the  review  of  eighteen  months  find  subjects  of  gratitude  still  more 
numerous!  Laura  began  no  important  action  of  her  life  without 
imploring  a  blessing  on  the  event ;  and  she  now  proceeded  to  com- 
mend herself  and  her  future  prospectis  to  the  same  care  of  which 
she  had  glad  experience 

The  proper  business  of  the  morning  ended,  she  had  begun  to 
make  an-angements  for  her  immediate  departure  ;  when  she  heard 
Lady  Pelham's  bell  ring,  and  the  next  instant  a  noise  like  that  oc- 
casioned by  the  fall  of  something  heavy.  She  listened  for  a  while, 
but  all  was  again  still.  The  rest  of  the  family  were  yet  buried  ia 
sleep,  and  Laura  hearing  no  one  stirring  fo  ajiswer  Lady  Pelham's 
summons,  began  to  fear  that  her  aunt  was  ill,  perhaps  unable  to 
make  any  further  effort  to  procure  assistance.  At  this  idea,  all 
her  just  indignation  subsiding  in  a  moment,  she  flew  to  Lady  Pel- 
ham's chamber. 

Lady  Pelliam  was  lying  on  the  floor,  having  apparently  fallen  in 
an  attempt  to  rise  from  her  bed.  She  was  alive  though  insensible  ; 
and  her  face,  though  altered,  was  .still  florid.  Laura  soon  procuring 
help,  raised  her  from  the  gi-ound  ;  and  guessing  that  apoplexy  was 
her  disorder,  placed  her  in  an  upright  posture,  loosened  her  night- 
clothes,  and  having  hurried  away  a  se:  aut  for  Mr.  Raby,  ventured, 
until  his  arrival,  upon  such  simple  remedies  as  she  knew  might  be 
safely  administered.  In  little  more  than  an  hour  the  surgeon  ar- 
rived, and  having  examined  his  patient,  declared  her  to  be  in  ex- 
^neTOe  danger.    Before  he  left  her,  however,  he  succeeded  in  re- 


164 

bloring'  Iter  to  some  degree  of  recollection ;  yet,  far  from  chang-ing 
his  first  opinion,  he  advised  Laura  to  lose  no  time  in  making-  every 
necessary  use  of  an  amendmetit  which  he  feared  would  be  only 
transient.  V 

From  Lady  Pelham,  he  went  to  Norwood;  and  returning-  to 
Walbourne  in  the  evening",  brought  the  pleasing-  intelligence  that 
De  Courcy  continued  to  do  well  This  second  visit  produced  no 
change  in  his  sentiments,  and  he  remained  persuaded  that  though 
Ladv  Pelham  might  continue  to  linger  for  a  time,  the  shock  had 
been  too  great  to  allow  of  complete  recovery.  Laura  now  rejoiced 
that  she  had  not  executed  her  purpose  of  leaving  Walbourne ;  since, 
liad  her  aunt's  illness  succeeded  to  the  rag'c  which  her  departure 
would  have  excited,  she  could  never  have  ceased  to  blame  herself 
as  the  cause.  She  looked  with  profound  compassion,  too,  upon 
the  condition  of  an  unfortunate  being,  whose  death  bed  was  neither 
smoothed  by  affection,  nor  cheered  by  pious  hope.  **  Unhappy 
woman  !'*  thought  sh.e,  as  she  sat  watching  an  unquiet  slumber 
into  which  lier  aunt  had  fallen,  "to  whom  tlic  best  gifts  of  natui-e 
and  of  fortune  have,  by  some  fatality,  been  useless,  or  worse  than  use- 
less ;  whose  affluence  has  purchased  no  higher  joys  than  half-grudg- 
ed luxuries ;  whose  abilities  have  dazzled  otlicrs  and  bewildered  i)er- 
self,  but  lent  no  steady  light  to  guide  her  way ;  whose  generosity  has 
called  forth  no  gratitude,  whose  kindness  has  awakened  no  affection  ; 
to  whom  length  of  days  has  brought  no  reverence,  and  length  of  in- 
timacy no  friends  !  Kven  the  sacred  ties  of  nature  have  been  to  her 
unblessed.  Her  only  child,  driven  from  her  in  anger,  dares  not 
approach  to  share  the  last  sad  offices  with  me,  who,  in  performing 
them,  must  forgive  as  v.'ell  a^  pity.  Favourite  of  fortune  !  what 
has  been  wanting  to  thee  save  that  blessing  which  *  bringeth  no 
sorrow  with  it  ?'  But  that  blessing  was  light  in  thine  esteem,  and 
amidst  the  glitter  of  thy  toys,  the  *  pearl  of  gi'eat  price'  was  disre- 
garded." 

For  some  days  Lady  Pelham  continued  much  in  the  same  situa- 
tion. She  suffered  no  pain,  yet  g-ave  no  signs  of  amendment.  Oa 
the  sixth  morning  from  her  first  attack  she  grew  suddenly  and 
materially  worse.  It  was  soon  discovered  that  her  limbs  were 
paralyzed,  and  the  surgeon  declared  that  her  end  could  not  be  very 
distant.  Her  senses,  however,  again  returned,  and  she  continued 
free  from  pain.  She  shewed  little  apprehension  of  her  own  dan- 
ger; and  Laura  debated  with  herself  whether  she  should  permit 
her  aunt  to  dream  away  the  last  precious  hours  of  probation,  or  en- 
deavour to  awaken  her  to  a  sense  of  her  condition. 

Laura  liad  no  faith  in  death  bed  repentance.  She  knew  that 
resolutions  of  amendment  which  there  is  no  longer  time  to  practise, 
and  renunciations  of  sin  made  under  the  immediate  prospect  of 
punishment,  are  at  best  suspicious  She  knew  that,  in  the  ordinary 
eourse  of  providence,  the  grace  which  has  been  long  despised  is  at 
length  justly  withdrawn.  Yet  she  saw  that  she  had  no  riglit  to 
judge  Lady  Pelham  as  wholly  impenitent ;  and  she  considered  a 
death  bed  as  highly  suitable  to  the  renewal,  though  not  the  begin- 


165 

mi\g  of  repentance.  She  knew,  too,  that  the  call-  miffht  be  made 
effectual  even  at  the  *  eleventh  hour  ;'  and  tlie  bare  chance  was 
wortli  the  toil  of  ages.  She  felt  how  little  she  herself  would  have 
valued  the  mistaken  pity  which  could  suffer  her  to  enter  on  the 
'  dark  valley'  without  a  warning  to  cling-  closer  to  the  *  staff"  and 
rod*  of  comfort: — She  therefore  ventured  to  hint  gently  to  Lady 
Pelham  the  opinion  of  her  medical  friends,  and  to  remmd  her  of 
the  duty  of  preparing  for  the  worst. 

X.ady' Pelham  at  first  appeared  a  good  deal  shocked ;  and  lay  for 
some  time  apparently  meditating  on  her  situation.  At  last,  reco- 
vering her  spirits,  she  said,  **  Your  nerves,  Laura,  were  always  so 
coarse,  that  you  seemed  to  me  to  take  a  pleasure  in  thinking  of 
shocking  livings  ;  but  I  am  sure  it  is  abominably  barbarous  in  you 
to  tease  me  with  them  now  I  am  ill.  Do  keep  your  horrid  fancies 
to  yourself,  or  keep  away  till  you  are  cured  of  the  vapours — I  dare 
3ay  it  is  your  dismal  face  tliat  makes  me  dream  so  unpleasantly.^ 

Laura,  however,  was  not  to  be  so  discouraged.  She  took  occa- 
sion to  represent  that  no  harm  could  ensue  from  preparing  to  meet 
the  foe ;  since  his  march  was  not  to  be  retarded  by  shutting  our 
eyes  on  his  advances,  nor  hastened  by  the  daring  which  watched 
his  approach.  She  at  length  thought  she  had  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing her  aunt  of  her  danger  Lady  Pelham  said  that  she  feared 
she  was  dying,  and  she  believed  that  she  said  the  truth.  But  Lady 
Pelham  had  had  sixty  years'  practice  in  self-deceit.  The  fear 
might  flutter  in  her  imagination,  but  was  not  strong  enough  to 
touch  her  heart  Laura,  however,  made  use  of  her  acknowledg- 
ment to  press  upon  her  the  duties  of  forgiveness  and  charity  to- 
wards all  mankind,  and  especially  to-wards  her  child  ;  reminding 
her  of  the  affecting  parity  of  situation  between  offending  man  and 
his  disobedient  offspring.  Lady  Pelham  at  first  answered  impa- 
tiently that  she  would  not  be  urged  on  this  subject ;  but  as  her 
spirits  began  to  fail  under  the  first  confinement  which  she  had 
ever  endured,  she  became  more  tractable.  "  God  knows,"  said 
she  t«  Laura,  one  day,  "  we  have  all  much  need  to  be  forgiven  , 
ami  therefore  we  must  forgive  in  our  turn.  For  my  part,  I  am  siu'C 
I  die  in  charity  with  all  mankind,  and  with  that  creature  among 
the  rest.  However,  I  shall  take  my  friend  the  Spectator's  advice, 
and  remember  the  difference  between  giving  afld/orgiving.'* 

Laura  often  begged  permission  to  send  for  Mrs.  Herbert ;  but 
Lady  Pelham  sometimes  postponed  it  till  she  should  get  better, 
sometimes  till  she  should  grow  worse,  l^aura  was  in  th.e  mean 
time  her  constant  attendant ;  bearing  with  her  peevishness,  sooth- 
ing her  caprice,  and  striving  to  rouse  in  her  feelings  suiiable  to 
her  condition.  Finding,  however,  that  she  made  but  little  pro- 
gress in  her  pious  work,  she  begged  that  she  might  be  allowed  to 
take  the  assistance  of  a  clergyman.  "  A  clergjman,  child  !"  cried 
Lady  Pelham.  **  Do  you  imagine  me  to  be  a  papist?  Or  do  you 
think  me  capable  of  such  weak  suj>erstitioH  as  to  place  more  re- 
liance on  a  parson's  prayers  than  on  yours,  or  my  maid  Be'ty's  * 
Xo,  no!  I  trust  I  have  been  no  worse  than  other  people ;  andl 


166 

hope,  though  I  may  o«  weak,  I  shall  never  be  fanatical.  Besides, 
I  have  too  hig-h  a  sense  of  the  Divine  Justice  to  think  that  our 
Maker  would  first  give  us  unei-overnable  passions,  and  then  pumsh 
•us  for  yielding  to  them.  A  pidegmatic  being  like  you,  may  indeed 
he  called  to  a  strict  account;  but  people  of  strong  feelings  rpust 
be  judged  by  a  different  standard.'*  "  Oh,  Madam,"  said  Latira:, 
"be  assured  that  our  Mviker  gives  U3  no  unconquerable  passions. 
If  we  ourselves  have  made  them  so,  it  becomes  us  to  be  humbled 
in  the  dust,  not  to  glory  in  tlie  presumptuous  hope  that  He  will 
soften  the  sanctions  of  his  law  to  favour  our  remissness." 

Driven  from  the  strong  hold  of  justice,  rather  by  the  increase  of 
her  bodily  languor,  than  by  the  force  of  truth,  the  dying  sinner  had 
recourse  to  mercy — a  mercy,  however,  of  her  own  composing.  "  It 
is  true,"  said  she,  one  day,  to  Laura,  "that  1  have  done  some 
tliings  which  I  have  reason  to  regret,  and  which,  I  must  confess, 
deserve  punishment.  But  Divine  Mercy  towards  believers,  we  are 
told,  is  infinite  ;  and  tliough  I  may  at  times  have  doubted,  I  have 
never  disbelieved."  Laura,  shuddering  at  this  awful  blindness, 
was  striving  to  frame  a  useful  reply,  when  she  saw  her  aunt's 
countenance  change  It  was  distorted  by  a  momentary  convuK 
sion,  and  then  fixed  for  ever  in  the  stillness  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

Laura  was  more  shocked  than  afflicted  by  the  death  of  a  per.- 
son  whom  she  was  unable  to  love,  and  had  no  reason  to  respect. 
She  lost  no  time  in  conveying  the  news  to  Mrs  Herbert,  begging 
that  she  would  lierself  come  and  give  tlie  necessary  direction. 
Thinking  it  proper  to  remain  at  VValbourne  till  after  her  aunt's 
funeral,  she  refused  .Mrs.  I)e  Courcy's  invitation  to  spend  at  Nor- 
wood the  time  which  intervened.  De  fJourcy  continued  to  re- 
cover fast;  and  Laura,  thinking  she  might  soon  leave  him 
without  anxiety,  again  fixed  an  early  day  for  her  journey  tx) 
Scotland. 

Notwithstandli^g  Laura's  knowledge  of  the  phlegmatic  temper- 
ament of  her  cousin,  she  was  surprised  at  the  stoicism  with  which 
Mrs.  Herbert  supported  the  death  of  her  mother  She  examined 
the  dead  body  with  a  cold  comment  on  its  appearance  ;  gave  or- 
ders for  the  interment  in  an  imfaltering  voice  ;  and  neitlier  seem- 
ed to  feel  nor  to  affect  the  slightest  concern.  Nor  did  htv  phi- 
losopliy  appear  to  fail  her  one  jot,  when,  upon  opening  the  will, 
she  was  found  to  be  left  without  inheritance.  The  paper,  which 
had  been  drawn  up  a  few  moiUhs  before,  evinced  Lady  Pelham's 
adherence  to  her  scheme  for  her  niece's  advancement;  and  this, 
with  her  obstinate  enmity  to  Mrs.  Herbert,  furnished  the  only  in- 
etances  of  her  consistency    or   perseverance,  which   were'  ever 


ItiJ 

♦ 

known  to  the  woi-ltl.  Her  whole  property  she  bequeathed  to  Lau- 
ra Montreville,  and  to  her  second  son  upon  taking  the  name  of 
Pelham,  provided  that  Laura  married  Color.el  liargrave,  or  a 
peer,  or  the  eldest  son  of  a  peer;  but  if  she  married  a  commoner, 
or  remained  unmarried,  she  was  to  inherit  only  ten  thousand 
pounds,  the  bulk  of  Uie  property  going  to  a  distant  relation. 

The  very  hour  that  this  will  was  made  public,  Laura  informed 
the  contingent  heir  that  he  might  possesshimself  of  his  inheritance, 
since  she  would  certainly  never  perform  the  conditions  which 
alone  could  destroy  his  claim.  Not  acquiescing  in  the  justice  of 
excluding  Mrs.  Herbert  from  her  natural  rights,  she  would  instant- 
ly have  offered  to  share  with  her  cousin  the  bequest  of  Lady  Pel- 
ham  ;  but  considering  that  her  engagement  with  De  Courcy  pnti- 
ticd  bim  to  decide  on  the  disposal  of  whatever  belonged  to  his  fu- 
ture wife,  she  hastened  to  ask  his  sanction  to  lier  purpose.  De  Cour- 
cy, without  hesitation,  advised  that  the  whole  should  be  gi\  en  up 
to  its  natural  owner.  "  We  shall  have  enough  for  hum!  le  com- 
fort, dear  Laura,"  said  he,  "and  have  no  need  to  gra.sp  at  a  doubt- 
ful claim."  Laura, however,  differed  from  him  in  opinion.  She 
thought  she  might,  in  strict  justice,  retain  part  of  the  bequest  of 
BO  near  a  relation  ;  and  she  lelt  pleased  to  think  that  she  should 
enter  the  De  CoUrcy  family  not  altogether  portionless.  She  there- 
fore reserved  two  thousand  pounds,  giving  up  the  rest  uncondi- 
tionally to  Mrs.  Herbert. 

These  points  being  settled^  nothing  now  remained  to  retard 
Laura's  journey  to  Scotland.  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  indeed,  urged  her 
to  postpone  it  till  Montague  should  acquire  a  right  to  be  her  es- 
cort ;  but  Laura  objected  that  it  was  her  wish  to  give  a  longer 
time  to  her  old  friend  than  she  thought  it  proper  to  withdraw  De 
Courcy  from  his  business  and  his  home.  She  reflected,  too,  with 
a  light  heart,  that  a  protector  in  her  journey  was  now  less  neces- 
sary, since  her  mad  lovei',  as  Harriet  called  C^olonel  Hargrave, 
had  embarked  for  Amerii;a.  Laura  had  heard  of  his  departure 
before  her  aunt's  death  ;  and  she  gladly  observed  that  favourable 
v.'inds  were  speeding  him  across  the  AtUa'tic 

The  day  preceding  that  on  which  she  meant  to  leave  Walbournc, 
she  spent  with  Mrs.  De  Courcy  and  Montague  ;  who,  though  not 
entirely  recovered,  was  able  to  resume  his  station  in  the  family- 
room.  De  Courcy,  wiih  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  and  love,  spoke 
of  his  happy  prospects  ;  his  mother,  with  the  sober  eje  of  e>pe- 
rience,  looked  forward  to  joys  as  substantial,  though  less  daz- 
zling ;  while  fem.inine  modesty  suppressed  the  pleasure  with 
which  Laura  felt  that  she  was  necessary  to  these  schemes  of  bliss. 
With  the  confidence  of  mutual  esteem  they  arranged  their  plan  of 
life— -a^lan  at  once  embracing  usefulness  and  leisure,  retirement 
and  hospitality.  Laura  consented  that  one  month  •  one  little 
month,' should  begin  the  accomplishment  of  these  golden  dreams  ; 
for  she  permitted  De  Courcy  to  follow  her  at  the  end  of  that  time 
to  Scotland-  A  .lew  weeks  they  were  to  spend  in  wandering 
through  the  .romantic  scenes  of  her  native  iandi  and,  then  join. 


168 

• 

Mrs.  De  Gourcy  at  Norwood,  which  was  to  continue  her  perma- 
nent abode. 

Laura  remained  with  heir  friends  till  the  evening*  was  closing  ; 
then,  avoiding"  the  solemnity  of  a  farewell  by  a  half-promise  of 
stopping  as  she  passed  the  next  day,  she  sprung-  into  Mrs.  De ' 
Courcy's  carriage,  and  drove  off  Tears  rushed  to  De  Courcy's 
eyes  as  the  carriage  was  lost  to  his  sight,  "  I  am  still  weak," 
thought  he  as  he  dashed  them  away.  **  She  will  soon  return  to 
bring  gladness  to  every  heart,  and  double  joy  to  mine.  To-mor- 
row too  I  shall  see  her,"  thought  he  ;  yet  he  continued  depressed, 
and  soon  retired  to  his  chamber. 

Mrs.  De  Courcy  and  her  son  met  early  the  next  morning,  ex- 
pecting that  Laura  would  early  begin  her  journey.  Montague 
stationed  himself  at  the  window  to  watch  for  her  appearance  ; 
half  fearing  that  she  would  not  keep  her  promise,  yet  every  mi- 
nute repeating  that  it  was  impossible  she  could  go  without  bidding 
farewell.  The  breakfast  hour  arrived,  and  still  Laura  came  not. 
De  Courcy,  impatient,  forgot  his  weakness,  and  insisted  upon  walk- 
ing to  tlie  gate  that  he  might  inquire  whether  a  carriage  had  pass- 
ed from  Walbourne. 

He  had  scarcely  left  the  house  when  old  John,  with  a  face  that 
boded  evil,  hastily  came  to  beg  tliathis  lady  would  speak  with  a 
servant  of  Lady  Pelham's.  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  somewhat  alfumed, 
desired  that  the  servant  might  come  in.  "  Please,  Ma^am,'*  said 
he,  **  let  me  know  where  1  may  find  Miss  Montreville.  Tlie  car- 
riage has  waited  for  her  these  three  hours  '"  **  Good  heavens  !" 
cried  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  in  consternation,  **  Is  Miss  Montreville 
not  at  Walbourne  ?"  "  No,  Madam,  she  has  not  been  there  since 
yesterday  morning."  Mrs.  De  C«urcy,  nov^r  in  extreme  alarm, 
summoned  her  coachman,  and  desired  to  know  where  he  had  left 
Miss  Montreville  the  evening  before.  He  answered,  that,  at  Lau- 
ra's desire,  he  had  set  her  down  at  the  gate  of  Walbourne  ;  that 
he  had  seen  her  enter  ;  and  afterwards,  in  turuing  the  carriage, 
had  observed  her  walking  along  the  avenue  towards  the  house. 
Inexpressibly  shocked,  Mrs.  De  Courcy  had  yet  the  presence  of 
mind  to  forbid  alarming  her  son  with  these  fearful  tidings.  As 
soon  as  she  could  recollect  herself,  she  despatched  old  Wilson,  on 
whose  discretion  she  thought  she  might  rely,  to  inform  De  Cour- 
cy  that  a  message  from  Walbourne  had  made  her  cease  to  expect  . 
Laura's  visit.  Montague  returned  home,  sad  and  chsappointed. 
His  melancholy  questions  and  comments  increased  the  distress  of 
his  mother.  **  Did  she  not  even  write  one  line  ?**  said  he.  "  Could 
you  have  believed  that  she  would  go  without  one  farewell — that 
she  could  have  passed  our  very  gate  ?"  "  She  was  willing  to  spare 
you  the  pain  of  a  farewell,"  said  Mrs.  De  Courcy,  checking  the  an- 
guish of  her  heart.     "  Siie  will  write  soon,  1  hope." 

But  day  after  day  passed,  and  Laura  did  not  write.  Mrs.  De 
Courcy,  still  concealing  from  lier  son  a  misfortune  which  she 
thought  him  yet  unequal  to  bear,  used  every  possible  exertion  to 
tface  the  fugitive.    She  offered  high  rewai-^s  to  whoever  could 


169 

uftbid  the  smallest  clue  to  discovery.  She  advertised  in  every 
newspaper  except  that  which  De  Courcy  was  accustomed  to  read. 
Her  suspicions  ai  first  falling-  upon  Har^rave,  she  caused  particu- 
lar inquiry  to  be  made  whether  any  of  his  domestics  had  been  left 
in  Kng-land  witli  orders  to  follow  him  ;  but  she  found  that  he  with 
Lis  wliole  suite  had  sailed  from  Europe  more  than  a  fortnight  be- 
fore L:iura*s  disappearance.  She  employed  emissaries  to  prose- 
cute tlie  search  in  almost  every  part  of  the  kingxlom.  Judging  the 
metropolis  to  be  the  most  likely  place  of  concealment,  she  made 
application  to  the  olncers  of  police  for  assistance  in  her  inquiries 
there.     Ail  was  in  vain.     No  trace  of  Laura  was  to  be  found. 

For  a  while  De  Courcy  amused  himself  from  day  to  day  with  the 
hope  of  hearmg  from  her  ;  u  hope  which  his  mother  had  not  the 
courage  to  destroy.  He  calculated  that  she  would  reach  the  end 
of  her  journey  on  the  sixth  day  alter  that  on  which  slie  left  him. 
On  the  seventh  she  would  certainly  write  ;  therefore  in  four  or  five 
more  he  slunild  undoubtedly  hear  from  licr.  TJie  expected  day 
came,  and  passed  as  others  had  done,  without  bringing  news  of 
I^aura.  Another  and  another  came,  and  ended  only  in  disappoint- 
ment. De  (Jourcy  was  miserable.  He  knew  not  how  to  account 
for  a  silence  so  adverse  to  the  considerate  kindness  of  Laura's 
character,  except  by  supposing-  that  illness  made  her  unable  to 
write.  This  idea  gathering- strength  in  his  mind,  he  resolved  to 
follow  her  immediately  to  Scotland,  tracing  her  through  the  route 
which  he  knew  she  intended  to  take.  Mrs.  De  Courcy  in  vain  at- 
tempted to  dissuade  him  from  the  prosecution  of  his  design,  and 
tosooihe  him  with  hopes  which  she  too  well  knew  would  prove 
deceitful.  He  was  resolute,  and  Mrs.  De  Courcy  was  at  last 
obliged  to  prevent  his  fruh less  journey  by  unfolding-  the  truth. 
The  utmost  tenderness  of  caution  was  insufficient  to  prevent  the 
effects  of  this  blow  on  De  Courcy's  bodily  frame.  In  a  few  hours 
strong  fever  seized  him  ;  and  his  wound,  which  had  hitherto  worn 
a  favourable  ap;jeKrance,  gave  alarming  symptoms  of  infiammarion. 
Three  weeks  did  Mrs.  De  Courcy  watch  by  his  bedside  in  all  the 
anguish  of  a  motlicr's  fears  ;  forgetting,  in  her  anxiety  for  his 
life,  that  he  must  for  a  time  live  oidy  to  sorrow.  Tlie  balance  lon^ 
hung-  doubtful.  At  length  the  strength  of  Ins  constitution  and 
his  early  habits  of  temperance  prevailed.  By  slow  tlegrces  his 
health  was  restored,  though  his  spirits  were  still  oppressed  by 
a  dejection^ which  long-  withstood  every  cffoi-t  of  reason  and  of 
religion.  '  •     ' 

To  diver*^  his  sojtow  rather  than  in  the  hope  of  removing  its 
cause,  he  left  his  home,  and  wandered  through  the  most  unfre- 
quented parts  of  England  making  anxious,  yet  almost  hopeless, 
inquiries  for  his  lost  treasure.  Sometimes,  misled  by  false  intel- 
lig' nee,  he  was  hurried  from  place  to  place  in  all  th".  eagerness  of 
expectation,  but  bitter  disappointment  closed  the  pursuit ;  and  the 
companion  of  his  relaxation,  his  encouragement  in  study,  his  pat- 
tern in  virtue,  iht  friend,  tlie  mistress,  almost  the  wife,  was  lost 
beyond  recal. 

r 


170 

^Vhilc  De  Courcy  was  thus  lang-ulshin^  on  a  sick-bed  or  wanikr- 
ing^  restless  and  miserable,  Lauru  too  was  a  wanderer,  a  prey  to 
care  marc  deep,  more  hopeless. 

The  soft  shades  of  twilig-lit  were  stealing-  on  as  s])e  cast  a  last 
lookback  towards  Norwood  ;  and  were  deepening  fast  as  with  a 
slg-h,  half-pleasing",  half-melancholy,  she  surveyed  the  sheltering- 
chesnut-tree  where  slie  had  once  parted  from  De  Courcy.  As  she 
approached  her  home,  tlie  sta*'s  coming-  forth  poured  their  silent 
languag'e  into  the  ear  of  piety.  Never  deaf  to  this  lioly  call.  Laura 
dismissed  her  attendants  that  she  mig-lit  meditate  alone.  Sne  pi'o- 
ceeded  slowly  along-till  she  came  to  the  entrance  of  a  woody  lane, 
which  branched  oft  from  the  avenue.  She  stopped,  half-inclined 
to  enter  ;  a  sensation  of  fear  made  her  pause.  The  next  moment 
the  very  consciousness  of  that  sensation  induced  her  to  proceed. 
**  This  is  mere  childish  superstition,"  said  she,  and  entered  the 
lane.  Slie  had  taken  only  a  few  steps  when  she  felt  herself  sud- 
denly seized  from  behind  ;  one  person  forcibly  confining-  her  arms 
while  another  prevented  her  cries.  Vainly  strug-g-ling  ag-ainst 
inasculin^  streng-th,  slie  w-as  hurried  rapidly  forward,  till,  her 
breath  failing-,  she  could  resist  no  farther.  Her  conductors,  soon 
quitting-  the  beaten  path,  drag-ged  her  on  throug-h  a  little  wood 
that  sheltered  the  lawn  towards  the  east ;  till  reaching- a  gap  which 
appeared  to  have  been  purposely  made  in  the  park  wail,  Laura 
perceived  a  carriage  in  waiting.  Again  exerting  the  strength  of 
desperation,  she  struggled  wildly  for  freedom  ;  but  the  unequal 
contest  soon  was  closed  ;  she  was  lifted  into  the  carriage  ;  one  of 
the  men  took  his  place  by  her  side,  and  they  drove  off  with  the 
speed  of  lightning.  .\ 

From  the  moment  when  she  recovered  recollection,  Laura  had 
not  a  doubt  that  she  owed  this  outrage  to  Hargrave.  She w^ as  con- 
vinced that  his  pretence  of  leaving  the  kingdom  had  been  merely 
intended  to  throw  her  off  her  guard,  and  that  he  was  now  waiting, 
at  no  distant  place,  the  success  of  his  daring  vlUany.  At  this 
idea,  a  horrible  dread  seizing  her,  she  threw  herself  back  in  the 
carnage  and  wept  in  despair.  Her  ■attendant  perceiving  that  she 
no  longer  struggled,  with  a  coarse  expression  of  pity,  released  her  . 
from  ins  grasp;  and,  taking  tlie  handkerchief  from  her  mouth, 
told  her,  "  she  might  cry  as  long  as  she  pleased,  for  he  knew  it 
did  a  woman's  heart  good  to  cry."  Laura  now  besought  him  to 
tell  iier  whither  she  was  going.  "You'll  know  that  by  and  by," 
said  he.  "  Let  me  alone.  I  am  going  to  sleep  ;  do  you  the 
same." 

Tlie  bare  mention  of  his  purpose  revived  Laura's  hopes.  "  Sure- 
ly," thought  she,  "  while  he  sleeps,  I  may  escape.  In  spite  of 
this  fearful  speed  I  may  spring  out  ;  and  if  I  could  gain  but  a  few 
steps,  in  this  darkness  1  should  be  safe."  Full  of  this  })ro)oct,  she 
remained  still  as  the  dead  ;  fearing  by  the  slightest  sound  or  mo- 
tion to  retard  ti»e  sleep  of  her  guard.  At  last  his  breathinir  an- 
nounced that  he  was  asleep  ;  and  Laura  began,  with  ti'cmbiifig 
hands,  to  attempt  her  escape.    The  blinds  were  drawn  up  ;  and  if 


171 

she  could  let  clown  that  on  the  si^e  of  the  can^lage  where  sl.c  sa+, 
she  miglit  without  difficulty  open  the  door.  She  tried  to  stir  tlic 
blind.  It  refused  to  yield.  She  used  her  utmost  force,  but  it  re- 
mained (inn.  She  ventured,  cautious  and  trembling-,  to  attempt 
that  on  the  other  side.  It  dropt ;  and  Laura  thou[-l)t  she  Was  free. 
It  only  remained  to  open  the  door  of  the  chaise  and  leap  out.  She 
tried  it  ;  but  the  door  was  immoveable,  a»d,  in  despair,  she  shrunk 
back.  Again  she  started  up  ;  for  it  occurred  to  her  that,  tliough 
with  more  dang-er,  she  might  escape  by  the  windov/.  Cautiously 
stepping-  across  her  g-uard,  slie  leant  out  and  placed  her  hands  oa 
the  top  of  the  carriage,  that,  trusting  to  her  arms  fur  supporting 
her  weight,  s!ie  might  extricate  herself,  and  drop  from  thence 
into  the  road,  liaising  herself  upon  the  edge  of  die  step,  she  fix- 
ed her  hands  more  firndy.  Sl>e  paused  a  nioment  to  listen  whe- 
ther her  guard  were  undisturbed.  He  still  slept  soundly  ;  and  rest- 
ing her  lijxihs  upon  the  window  frame,  she  prepared  to  complete 
her  escape. 

A  moment  more  and  she  had  been  free  ;  when  a  h.orsefnan  i  id  ir.g 
tip,  pushed  her  fiercely  back,  upbraiding  witlj  tremendous  oaths, 
the  carelessness  of  his  companion.  The  fellow,  rousing  himself, 
retorted  upon  the  wretched  Laura  the  abuse  of  his  comrade, 
swearing  tit  at  "  since  he  saw  she  was  so  cunning,  he  would  keep 
better  \v:itch  upon  her  for  the  future." 

The  desponding  Laura  endured  his  reproaches  in  silence.  Find- 
ing herself  thus  doubly  guarded,  she  resigned  all  hope  of  escaping 
by  her  own  unaided  exertions  ;  and  mingling  silent  prayers  witli 
her  fearful  anticipations,  she  strove  to  reanimate  her  trust  that 
she  should  not  be  wholly  forsaken.  Sometimes  her  habitual  confi- 
dence prevailed,  and  she  felt  assured,  that  she  should  not  be  left 
a  prey  to  the  wicked.  Yet  the  dreadful  tlireats,  the  fiery  passions 
of  HargTave  rose  to  her  recollection,  and  she  again  shuddered  in 
despair.  She  suddenly  remembered  Jessy  Wilson..  Starting,  with 
an  exclamation  of  hon  or  and  aflright,  she  songlit  some  weapon 
which  niight  disjicnse  to  her  a  death  less  terrible  ;  and  instinc- 
tively gra.sping  her  pen-knife,  hid  it  in  her  bosom.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  .'hrunk  from  her  purpose,  and  doubted  the  lawfulness  of 
such  defence.  *'  Will  he  dare  his  own  life,  too?"  thought  she. 
*'  Oh,  Heaven  !  in  mercy  sprue  me  the  necessity  of  sending  a 
wretch  to  his  great  accoimt,  with  all  his  crimes  unrepented  on  his 
head-  or  pardon  him  and  me  .'" 

She  continued  to  conimend  herself  to  Heaven,  till  her  terrors  by 
degrees  subsided  She  began  again  to  feel  the  .steady  trust  wiitch 
is  acquired  by  ill  who  are  habituated  to  a  grateful  consideration 
of  the  care  which  they  experience  ;  a  trust  that  even  the  most  ad- 
verse events  sliall  terminate  in  their  rt  ul  advantage  ;  that  the  rug- 
ged and  slippery  ways  of  this  dark  wilderness,  shrdl,  at  the  dawn 
of  everlasting  day,  be  owned  as  the  fittest  to  conduct  us  to  the 
house  of  our  Father.  She  began,  t«;o,  to  regain  the  confidence 
which  strong  minds  naturally  put  in  their  own  exertion?.  She  re- 
Solved  not  to  be  wanting   to  herself;  nor,  by  brooding  over  her 


172  '   -] 

terrors,  to  disable  herself  from  taking  advantag-e  of  any  providen- 
tial circumstance  which  might  favour  her  esc  pe. 

Morning  at  length  began  to  dawn,  but  the  blinds  being  closely 
drawn  up,  Laura  could  make  no  observations  on  the  country 
through  which  she  was  passing.  She  remarked  that  the  furious 
speed  with  which  she  had  at  first  been  driven,  had  slackened  to  a 
slow  pace  ;  and  she  judgjed  that  the  wearied  cattle  could  not  pro- 
ceed much  further.  She  hoped  that  it  would  soon  be  necessary 
to  stop  :  and  that  during  the  few  minutes  in  wliich  they  halted  to 
change  horses,  she  miglit  find  means  of  appealing  to  the  justice 
of  her  fellow-creatures.  "  Surely,"  said  she,  "some  heart  will  be 
open  to  me." 

After  proceeding  slowly  for  some  time  the  carriage  stopped. 
Laura  listened  for  the  sounds  of  hviman  voices,  biit  all  was  silent. 
She  lieard  the  trampling  of  horses  as  if  led  close  by  tlie  carriage. 
Some  one  was  certainly  near  who  had  no  interest  in  this  base  op- 
pression. "  Kelp  !  Oh  help  me,"  cried  Laura.  **  I  am  cruelly 
and  wrongfully  detained.  I  have  friends  that  will  reward  you. 
Heaven  will  reward  you  ! — Help  me  !  for  kind  mercy,  help  me  !" 
**  Heyday!"  cried  the  fellow  in  the  carriage,  with  something  be- 
tween  a  grin  and  a  stare,  "  who  is  the  girl  speaking  to  ?  Wiiat ! 
did  you  imagine  we  should  be  wise  enough  to  bring  you  within 
holla  of  a  whole  yardful  of  stable  boys  and  pif)ing  chambermaids  ? 
Reward  indeed  !  Set  your  heart  at  rest,  Miss  ;  "we  shall  be  reward- 
ed without  your  friends  or  Heaven  either." 

The  carriage  agj^in  proceeded  with  the  same  speed  as  at  first, 
and  Laura  strove  to  support  with  composure  this  new  blow  to  her 
hopes.  Her  companion,  now  producing  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some 
biscuits,  advised  her  to  share  with  him  ;  and  that  she  might  not 
wilfully  lavish  her  strength  and  spirits,  she  consented.  Once  more 
in  the  course  of  the  day  the  travellers  stopped  to  change  horses* 
and  Laura  once  more,  though  with  feebler  hopes,  renewed  her  ap- 
peals to  justice  and  to  pity.  No  answer  greeted  her  ear.  Again 
she  was  hurried  on  her  melancholy  way.  . 

The  day,  as  it  advanced,  seemed  rougli  and  gloomy.  The  wind 
swept  in  gusts  through  the  trees,  and  the  rain  beat  upon  the  car- 
riage. The  evening*  was  drawing  on  when  Laura  rem.arked  th.at 
the  motion  was  changed.  The  chaise  proceeded  slowly  over  soft 
uneven  ground,  and  she  guessed,  with  dismay,  that  it  had  quitted 
all  frequented  paths.  In  renewed  alarm,  she  again  besought  her 
companion  to  tell  her  whither  he  meant  to  conduct  her,  and  for 
what  end  she  was  thus  cruelly  forced  from  her  home.  "  Why,  how 
should  1  tell  vou  what  I  don't  know  myself?"  answered  the  man. 
"  I  shan't  conduct  you  much  farther — and  a  good  riddance.  As 
for  the  end,  you'll  see  that  when  it  comes." 

About  an  hour  after  quitting  the  road,  the  carriage  stopped; 
and  the  man  letting  down  the  lilind,  Laura  perceived  through  the 
dusk,  that  they  were  on  a  barren  moor.  Waste  and  level,  it  seem- 
ed to  spread  before  her;  but  the  darkness  prevented  her  from  dis- 
tinguishing its  features  or  its  bouudariea.     Suddenly,  as  the  gust 


17;> 

died  awKV,  s;ie  tancied  she  heard  the  roar  of  waters.  She  lisle;;- 
ed  ;  but  the  wind  swelled  a^ain,  and  she  heard  only  its  howlinga 
over  the  heath.  The  horseman  who  had  rode  away  wlien  the  car- 
riage stopped,  now  galloped  back,  and  directed  the  postilion  to 
proceed.  They  went  on  for  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  again  they 
stopped.  The' roar  of  waters  again  burst  on  Laura's  ear,  now 
swelling  In  thunder,  now  sinkii«g  in  a  sulfen  murmur.  She  saw  a 
light  glimmer  at  a  distance.  It  was  tossed  by  tlie  billows  of  the 
ocean 

The  door  of  the  chaise  was  opened,  and  she  was  lifted  from  it. 
Gliding  from  the  arms  of  the  rviffian  who  held  her,  and  clasping 
his  knees,  "  Oh!  if  you  have  the  heart  of  a  man,"  she  cried,  "let 
me  not  be  torn  from  my  native  land— let  me  not  be  cast  on  the  mer- 
ciless deep.  Think  what  it  is  to  be  an  exile — friendless  in  a 
strange  land — ^the  sport,  the  prey  of  a  pitiless  enemy.  CMi!  if  you 
have  need  of  mercy,  have  mercy  upon  me."  "  Holla  !  Robert," 
shouted  the  ruffian,  "  take  away  this  girl.  She's  enough  to  make 
a  man  play  the  fool  and  whimper."  The  otlicr  fellow  now  ap- 
proaching, lifted  Laura,  more  dead  than  alive,  from  the  ground, 
and,  wrapping  her  in  a  large  cloak,  bore  her  towards  the  beach. 
-  In  a  creek  sheltered  by  rocks  from  the  breakers,  lay  a  small 
boat.  One  man  sat  near  tbe  bow,  roaring  a  hoarse  sea- song.  As  the 
party  approached,  hcppse,  and  pushing  tlie  boat  ashore,  received 
the  half  lifeless  Laurain  his  brawny  arms,  cursing  lier  with  strange 
oaths  for  having  made  him  wait  so  long.  Then,  on  his  uttering  a 
disjcordant  yell,  two  of  litis  companions  apjieared  ;  and  after  ex- 
changing with  I^aura's guards  a  murmuring  account  of  the  trouble 
they  had  undergone,  pu.shed  ofl"  from  the  land.  Tiie  keel  grated 
along  the  pebbles  ;  tlve  next  moment  it  floated  on  the  v/aves,  and 
Laura  starting  up,  threw  back  the  cloak  from  her  face,  andwitlv 
strained  eyes  gazed  onlier  parting"  native  laud,  till  ali  behind  was 
darkness. 

A  pang  of  anguish  striking  t&  her  beavt,  she  made  once  more  a 
desperate  cflort  to  awaken  pity.  Stretching  her  clasped  hand.9 
towards  the  man  \\ho  sat  near  lier,  she  cried,  in  the  piercing^ 
voice  of  misery,  "Oh  take  pity  on  me  !  F  ani  aiv  orphan.  I  have 
beard  that  sailors  have  kindly  hearts — Have  pity,  then— land  mo 
on  the  wildest  coast,  and  I  will  fall  down  there  and  pray  for  you !" 
The  person  to  whom  she  spoke  having  eyed  her  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  coolly  drew  in  his  oar  ;  and  rising,  wrapped  her  close  in 
the  cloak  and  laid  her  down  in  tlie  bottom  of  the  boat,  advising  her 
with  an  oath  to  "  keep  snug  or  she  would- caps i.2e  them."  In  des- 
pair she  renounced  all  further  ef?brt.  Silent  and  motionless  she 
jay,  the  cold  spray  d;tshing  over  her  \m heeded  ;  till  wet,  chilled^ 
and  miserable,  she  was  lifted  on  board  a  small  brig  which  lay 
about  half  a  mile  from  the  shore  She  was  carried  down  U>  the 
cabin,  which  was  more  decent  than  is  usual  in  vessels  of  thutsize. 
A  clean  looking  Avoman  attended  to  undress  her;  n-ght  olf-the.s 
were  in  readiness  for  her;  and  every  accommodation  pr)videtl 
"which  her  aituation  rendered  possible.    Every  thing  served  to  coa- 


: 


174 

vince  her  of  the  care  and  precantion  with' which  thrs  crtrel  schcmo 
had  been  concerted,  and  to  shew  her  the  depth  of  the  snare  into     j 
which  she  had  fallen.  ! 

She  was    laid  in  her  narrow  orib,    ere  it  occurred  to  her  that 
Haigrave  mig^ht  be  near  to  watch  his  prey.  Exhausted  as  she  was,     i 
sleep  fled  at  the  thought.     She  Irstened  for  his  voice,  for  his  foot-     ' 
step,  amid  the  unwontcd'tiiscord  tliiit  disturbed  her  ear.     Daylight     i 
returned,  and  no  sound  reached,  her  more  terrible  than  that  of  the 
gale  rattling  in  the  cordage  and  dashing  the  waves  against  the 
vessel's  side.     Worn  out  with  fatigue  and  sufiei  ing,  she  slept  at 
length  ;  and  a  mid-day  sun  glanced  by  fits  tlnough   her  grated 
•window  ere  she  awoke  to  a  new  sense  of  sorrow.     Sl)e  rose,  and 
going  upon  deck,  looked  sadly  back  upon  the  way  she  had  uncon- 
sciously passed.     Behind,  the  blue  mountains  were  sinking  in  the 
distance;    on  the  left  lay  a  coast  imknown  to  her;  before  her 
Stretched  tlie  boundless  deep,  unvaried  save  by  the  whitening 
surge. 

Laura  spent  most  of  her  time  upon  deck,  the  fresli  air  reviving 
her  failing  spirits.  One  male  and  one  female  attendant  seemed 
appropriated  to  her,  and  sei*ved  her  with  even  ofHcious  assiduity. 
Hoping  that  some  opportunity  might  occur  of  transmitting  an  ac- 
count of  her  situation  to  England,  she  begged  these  obsequious^ 
attendants  to  supply  her  with  writing  ma?»rialsi  but  was  firmly, 
though  respectfully,  refused. 

The  third  morning  came,  and  Laura  looked  in  vain  for  any  ob- 
ject to  vary  the  immeasurable  waste.  The  sun  rose  from  one  un- 
bending line,  and  sunk  again  in  naked  majesty.  She  observed  that 
tke  course  of  the  vessel  was  in  general  directly  west ;  and  if  she 
had  before  doubted,  this  circumstance  would  have  convinced  her 
of  her  destiftation.  She  once  ventured  to  inquire  whither  the  ship 
was  bound,  but  was  answered  that  "she  should  knaw  that  where 
?he  rea<;hed  the  port." 

It  was  on  the  fourth  of  May  that  Laura  began  her  ill-omened 
voyage.  On  the  twelfth  of  June,  land  !  land  !  was  shouted  in  the 
voice  of  joyful  triumph.  All  ran  to  gaze  with  glad  eyes  on  what 
seemed  alow  cloud,  faintly  descried  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon- 
all  but  Laura  who  looked  sadly  forward,  as  to  the  land  of  exile,  of 
degradation — of  deatli.  Day  after  day  that  dreaded  land  approach- 
ed ;  till,  by  degrees,  the  boundless  ocean  was  narrowed  to  a  mighty 
river,  and  the  unfrcquent  sail,  almost  too  distant  for  mortal  sight, 
was  multiplied  to  a  busy  fleet,  plying  in  eveiy  direction  their 
cheerful  labours.  At  length  a  city  appeared  in  view,  rising  like 
an  amphitheatre,  and  flashing  bright  with  a  material  unknown  to 
European  architecture.  Laura  inquired  what  toWn  it  was  ;  and, 
though  refused  all  information,  surmised  that  Quebec  lay  before 
her. 

Opposite  the  town,  the  ship  hove  to  ;  a,  boat  was  launched,  and 
La<ira  expected  to  be  sent  on  shore.  Nor  did  she  unwillingly  pre- 
pare to  go.  "  Surely.'  thought  she,  '*  in  this  populous  city  some 
one  will  be  found  to  listen  to  my  xsX^,  and  wrest  me  from  the  arm 


175 

ofthe  oppressor.'*  The  boat  however  departed  without  her,  car- 
rvin«^  ashore  the  man  who  had  hitherto  attended  her.  After  re- 
wiaiiiing'  on  shore  for  several  homs,  the  man  retiu'ned,  and  the 
vessel  ag-ain  proceeded  in  her  yoyu^e.  Lanra  now  imagined  that 
Montreal  was  her  destined  port  ;  and  again  she  strove  to  hope 
that,  among-  numbers,  she  should  find  aid. 

A  still  cloudy  evening  had  succeeded  to  a  sultry  day,  when 
Laura  observed  an  unusr.al  bustle  upon  deck.  It  was  grow  ing 
dark,  when,  as  she  leant  over  the  rail,  to  watch  the  fire-flies  that 
flashed  like  stars  in  the  air,  the  captain  approaching  her,  told  her 
that  she  must  go  ashore,  and  immediately  lifted  her  into  a  boat 
which  lay  along  side.  Her  attendants  and  baggage  were  already 
there  ;  the  sailors  had  taken  their  oars  ;  and,  roaring  to  their  com- 
panions a  rough  **  good  night,"  made  towards  the  land  Instead, 
however,  of  gaining  the  nearest  point,  tl>ey  rowed  into  what  in  the 
darkness  seemed  a  creek  ;  but  I^aura  soon  perceived  that,  having 
left  the  great  river  on  which  they  had  hitherto  sailed,  they  were 
following  the  course  of  one  of  its  tributary  streams.  The  darkness 
prevented  her  from  distinguishing  objects  on  the  banks,  though 
now  and  then  a  light  glimmering  from  a  casement,  shewed  that 
the  ha.unts  of  man  were  near.  She  could  not  even  discern  the 
countenances  of  the  sailors  ;  but  she  observed,  that  he  who  seem- 
ed to  direct  the  other,  spoke  in  a  voice  which  was  new  to  her  ear. 
All  night  the  rowers  toiled  up  the  stream.  The  day  dawned  ; 
and  Laura  perceived  that,  parsing  an  opc^i  cultivated  plain,  she 
was  pursuing  her  course  towards  woods  impervious  to  the  light. 
l>ark  and  tangled  they  lowered  over  the  strean?,  till  they  closeA 
around,  and  every  cheerful  object  was  blotted  from  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  XXXin. 

The  travellers  had  proceeded  for  some  time  shaded  by  the 
overhanging  woods,  the  distance  lengthened  by  the  dreary  same- 
ness of  their  way,  when  a  wild  halloo  smote  Laura's  ear  ;  and  she 
perceived  that  three  Indians  stood  at  the  water-edge,  making  signs 
for  the  boat  to  land  To  her  unspeakable  surprise,  the  sailors 
joyfully  obeyed  the  signal.  They  ran  their  bark  h»  a  creek  to 
which  the  Indians  pointed,  and  cheerfully  busied  themselves  in 
discharging  their  cargo.  Placed  with  her  attendants  on  a  little 
eminence,  which  rose  above  the  swampy  margin  ofthe  river,  Lau- 
ra took  a  fearful  survey  ofthe  scene  around  her.  Save  where  the 
sluggish  stream  opened  to  the  daj',  her  view  was  bounded  to  a  few 
yards  of  marshy  ground,  rank  with  unwholesome  vegetation.  No 
track  appeared  to  lead  from  this  desolate  spot.  Between  the  gigan- 
tic pines,  brush-wood  and  coarse  grass  spread  in  sad  liuturiance- 


176 

No  trace  was  here  of  Ijuman  footstep.  All  was  dreay  and  foAoti^ 
as  the  land  wliich  the  first  wanderers  visited  un-vvilling-. 

She  had  not  long"  continued  lier  melancholy  survey,  when  the 
two  stoutest  of  the  Indians  approached  ;  and  one  of  them,  after 
tulking-  apart  with  Iier  attendants,  lifted  her  female  servant  in  his 
arms,  and  walked  on.  The  other  miiking  some  uncouth  g-estures. 
})rcpared  to  raise  Laura  from  t!>e  ground.  She  shrunk  back  alarm- 
ed ;  but  the  Indian,  in  broken  French,  asstn-ed  her  that  he  would 
not  hurt  her  ;  and,  pointinjj  towards  the  woods,  reminded  her  ot 
the  difficulty  of  passing-  them  on  foot.  Her  valet,  too,  represented 
the  fatigue  she  must  undi.-rg'o,  if  she  refused  the  assistance  of  the 
Indian.  But  Laura  preferring*  a  toilsome  march  to  such  a  mode  of 
conveyance,  persevered  in  lit*r  refusal ;  and  bidding- them  lead  the 
way,  followed  into  the  pathless  wild. 

■  They  continued  their  journey  for  several  hours^,  no  object  meet- 
ing their  sight  that  might  mark  the  stages  of  their  way.  No  work 
of  man  appeared,  not  even  the  faintest  trace  that  ever  man  had 
toiled  through  tliis  wilderness  ;  yet  Laura  perceived  that  tlie  In- 
dians proceeded  wltliout  hesitation.  The  position  of  the  grass, 
the  appearance  of  the  leaves,  g-ave  indications  sufficient  to  guide 
them  in  their  route.  One  of  them  carried  abng  of  provisions  ;  .and 
having  reached  a  spot  where  the  ground  was  firm  and  dry,  he  in- 
vited  Laura  to  sit  down  and  take  some  refreshment.  Faint  wit!i 
fatigue,  Laiu'a  thankfully  acceded.  Scarcely,  however,  had  she 
seated  herself  on  the  j,*.  ass,  ere  her  attention  was  drawn  by  a 
slight,  though  unu&tial  noise;  and  she  was  told  tluit  it  was  caused 
by  a  rattlesnake.  At  this  intelligence  her  maid  screaming,  started 
up,  and  was  going  to  dart  forward  into  the  wood.  The  Indians  be- 
held her  terror  with  silent  conte.mpt,  wliile  Laura  calmly  detained 
her  with  gentle  force.  "  St.iy,  Mary,"  said  she.  "  If  you  tread  on 
the  animal  you  are  gone  !  If  we  are  quiet,  we  may  probably  sec 
and  avoid  it."  The  influence  which  Laura  always  acquired  over 
those  with  whom  she  lived,  prevailed  over  Mary's  dread;  and  in  a. 
few  moments  the  serpent  was  seen  by  one  of  the  Indians,  who  killed 
it  with  a  single  blow. 

Their  hasty  meal  ended,  the  party  pracr-<  ded  on  their  way  ;  but 
Jthey  had  not  g-one  far  ere  Laura,  worn  out  with  toil  and  sorrow, 
sunk  upon  the  ground.  She  had  nov/  no  choice  ;  and  the  Indian, 
lifting  her  with  the  same  ease  as  he  would  have  done  an  infant, 
went  on  with  more  speed  than  before. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  day,  the  woods  suddenly  opened  into 
a  small  field,  surrounded  by  them  on  evei-y  sidt,  which  appeared 
to  liave  been  itself  imperfectly  redeemed  from  the  same  state  of 
waste  luxuriance.  In  the  centre  stood  a  house,  or  rather  calkin, 
mdely  constructed  of  the  material  which  nature  so  lavishly  sup- 
plied. Around  it  a  small  patch,  inclosed  by  apallisade,  bore  marks- 
of  forsaken  cultivation.  Beyond  this  inclosure,  logs  of  prndig-ious 
size  lay  scattered  through  the  field,  and  the  roots,  which  had  not 
been  cleared  from  the  groui>d,  were  again  sliooting  luxuriantly .-i~ 


177 

With  a  faint  sensation  of  g-ladness,  Laura  beheld  traces  of  liuman- 
kind.  Yet  no  living"  creature  appeared.  Here  reig-iu-d  pvinitnal 
stillness.  The  winds  had  died  away.  A  suUry  calm  filh^d  the  air. 
The  woods  were  motionless.  The  birds  were  silent."  All  was 
fixed  as  in  death,  save  where  a  dull  stream  stole  under  the  tall  canes 
that  deformed  its  margin. 

Mary's  exclamations  of  grief  and  surprise  first  informed  Laura 
that  she  had  reached  her  home  To  Laura  the  drearine.«is  of  the 
scene  was  of  small  concern.  No  outwai'd  circumstances  could  add 
to  the  horrors  with  which  her  fears  were  familiar  While  her  at- 
tendant bewailed  aloud  that  ever  thirst  of  gain  had  lured  her  from 
4iappy  England,  Laura  was  inwardly  striving  to  revive  the  hope 
that  sudden  death  might  snatch  her  from  the  gi-asp  of  the  oppres- 
sor ;  and  renewing  her  oft  repeated  prayer — "  Oh  that  i'hou 
wouldst  hide  me  in  the  grave  !"  But  no  selfish  sorrow  could  make 
her  regardless  of  the  woes  of  others.  **  Courage,  Mar}'.**  said  she, 
with  a  foreboding  smile,  "  vre  shall  soon  be  released;  and  both,  I 
hope,  find  shelter-in  our  Father's  house.  * 

The  cabin  was  divided  into  three  apartments,  each  entering  from 
the  other.  To  the  innermost  Laura  was  conducted  ;  and  she  saw 
that  it  had  been  arranged  for  her.  The  window  was  secured  with 
iron.  The  furniture,  unlike  that  of  the  other  rooms,  was  new  and 
r!\t  inelegant.  Laura  looked  round  to  observe  whethe.' any  trace 
of  Hargrave's  presence  was  visible.  None  appeared.  She  examined 
every  recess  and  corner  of  her  new  abode,  as  one  who  fears  the 
lurking  assassin.  She  ascertained  that  Hargrave  was  not  its  in- 
mate ;  and  thanked  Heaven  for  the  prospect  of  one  night  of  peace. 
It  was  in  vain,  however,  that  she  tried  to  discover  how  long  this 
reprieve  might  last.  The  servants  either  could  not,  or  would  not 
give  her  any  information.  She  was  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
character  of  her  oppressor  to  hope  that  he  woidd  long  delay  his 
coming.  "  To-moi*row,  perhaps'*— thought  she ;  and  th/*  cold  shiver- 
ing came  over  her,  which  now  ever  followed  her  anticipation  of  the 
future.  "  Yet  why  do  I  despair  ?"  said  she.  "Is  any  time  too  short, 
Jarc  any  means  too  feeble  for  the  Power — for  the  Wisdom  in  which 
I  trust  ?  But  since  the  hour  of  trial  may  be  so  near,  let  me  not 
waste  the  time  which  should  prepare  for  it — prepare  to  cast  off  this 
poor  clog  of  earth,  and  rise  beyond  its  sorrows  and  its  stains," 

Laura's  bodily  frame,  however,  could  not  long  keep  pace  with 
the  efforts  of  her  mind,  for  her  health  and  strength  were  failing" 
under  the  continued  influence  of  grief  and  fear.  The  form,  once 
rounded  in  fair  proportion,  was  wasted  to  a  shadow.  The  once 
graceful  neck  bent  mournfully  forward.  The  lilly  arms  hung  down 
in  listless  m.elancholy.  The  cheek,  once  of  form  inimitable,  was 
sunk  and  hollow  now.  The  colour,  once  quick  to  tell  the  modest 
thouglit,  was  fixed  in  the  paleness  of  the  dead.  And  death  was 
ever  present  to  her  thoughts — sole  point  to  which  her  hope  turned 
steadily  ',' 

One  only  desire  lingered  upon  earth.  She  wished  that  some 
friend  should  pity  her  hard  fate,  and  knOw  that  the  victim  had 


178 

shrank  from  it,  though  in  vain.  Intending"  to  leave  behind  licr 
some  attestation  of  her  innocence,  she  besoiiglit  Mai*y  to  procure 
for  her  the  means  of  writing-.  **  Why  sliould  you  fear  to  trust  me  ?" 
said  she.  •'  To  whom  upon  earth'  can  my  complaint  reach  now  ■ 
You  may  see  all  I  write,  Mary  ;  and  perhaps  wlicn  I  am  g^one  you 
will  youi-self  convey  it  to  my  friend.  Your  master  will  not  prevent 
you  then  ;  for  then  he  will  have  pity  on  me,  and  wish  that  he  liad 
not  dcr.lt  with  me  so  hardly."  The'irresistible  sAveetness  of  Laura 
liad  won  the  heart  of  her  attendant,  and  Mary  promised  that  she 
would  endeavotir  to  g-ratify  licr.  S!ie  said  that  the  writing  mate- 
rials v/ere  kept  carefully  locked  up  by  Robert,  the  man-servant ; 
that  bis  master's  orders  on  that  subject  had  been  peremptory  ;  that 
sJie  was  sure  he  would  not  venture  to  disobey  while  there  remain, 
ed  a  possibility  of  conveying'  intellig-ence  from  the  place  of  their 
confinement;  that  two  of  tiie  Indians  were  to  depart  on  the  follow- 
ing day  ;  that  after  they  were  gone,  no  means  of  access  to  the  ha- 
bitable world  remaining,  Robert  might  possibly  relax  his  strict- 
ness, and  permit  Laura  to  amuse  herself  with  writing.  Mai7's 
words  awakened  in  Laura's  mind  an  idea  that  all  was  not  yet  lost. 
The  Indians  were  suspected  of  favouring  her.  Tiiey  might  then 
hear  her  appeal  to  human  pity,  to  hiunan  justice.  If  she  could  find 
means  to  speak  with  them  apart,  she  would  plead  so  earriestly  that 
even  sava.«  es  Vv^mld  be  moved  to  mercy  !  At  these  thoughts  a  r.^.y 
of  hope  once  more  kindled  in  her  breast.  It  was  the  lasst.  All  day 
she  watclied  for  an  opportunity  to  address  one  of  the  Indians.  In 
vaiii !  Robert  guarded  her  with  such  relentless  fidelity,  that  she 
foimd  it  impossible  to  efPect  her  purpose.  The  Indians  departed. 
Miry  performed  her  promise,  and  the  unfortunate  Laura  wrote  the 
following  letter,  Vv'liich  Avas  afterwards,  by  Hargrave's  permission, 
conveyed  to  Mrs.  Doug"las. 

"  From  this  dreary  land  of  exile,  to  whom  .shall  I  address  my- 
Keif  save  to  y^'u,  mine  own  friend,  and  my  father's  friend  ?  Where 
tell  my  sad  fate  save  to  you,  who  first  taught  me  the  hope  that  looks 
beyond  it  ?  And  let  it  comfort  your  kind  heart  to  know,  that  while 
you  are  shedding  tears  over  tliis  last  memorial  of  your  Laura,  I 
shall  be  rejoicing  in  tlie  full  consummation  of  that  hope. 

*'  There  is  indeed  another  fiiend!  One  to  wliom  my  last  earthly 
thoughts  are  due  !  liut  I  cannot  tell  him,  that  she  who  was  almost 
the  wife  of  his  bosom  is  gone  down  to  adlslionoured  grave.  I  have 
not  time  to  sofivn  ray  sad  talc  to  him,  nor  to  study  words  of  com- 
fort;  for  tlie  moments  are  precious  with  me  nov.-.  A  few,  a  very 
few,  are  all  that  remain  for  preparation.  I  must  not  rob  theirx  of 
their  awful  right.  Tell  him  my  story  as  he  is  able  to  bear  it.  Tell 
him  my  innocence,  and  he  will  lielieve  it,  for  he  knew  my  very  soul. 
But  I  must  hasten,  lest  tlie  destroyer  come,  ere,  in  these  lines,  I 
close  my  connexion  with"  this  world  of  trial." 

[She  then  proceeded  to  give  a  simple  naiTafivc  of  her  wrono^s. 
She  expressed  no  bitterness  against  the  author  of  them.  She  spoke 
of  him  as  of  a  misguided  being,  and  pitied  the  anguish  which  he 
W.1S  preparing  for  hiiriseli.]  "  Tell  Mr.  De  Courcy,"  she  proceeded. 


in 

'-  tiiut  I  chai'g-e  him,  by  all  the  love  he  bcnrs  rr.c,  to  fort,M\c  n,:- 
enemy,  even  from  tiie  heart  foi give  hmi.  Let  him  Uo  more.  Let 
him  pray  lor  him  ;  and  if  tliey  meet,  admonisli  liiin.  It  may  be  that 
his  heart  will  soften  when  he  remembers  me.* 

[The  remainder  of  the  letter  was  written  at  intervals.  Laura 
spent  her  time  chiefly  in  acts  of  devotion,  of  self-examination,  and 
repentance.  It  was  only  when  exhausted  nature  could  no  long^er 
follow  these  exercises  of  the  soul,  that  she  returned  to  add  another 
line  to  her  picture  of  wretchedness] 

"  Tlie  saints  who  resisted  unto  blood  striving-  ag-ainst  sin,  'vho 
gave  up  their  lives  in  defence  of  the  truth,  looked  forward  to  the 
hour  of  their  departure  rejoicing.  IJut  I  must  s:o  to  the  grave  laden 
with  shame  and  sorrow.  My  soul  is  weary  of  my  life,  and  yet  I 
must  fear  to  die.  Yet  let  my  enemy  a  little  while  delay  his  comiiig-, 
and  my  death  also  will  be  joyful.  Let  liim  stay  only  a  few  day.s, 
and  I  shall  be  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  oppressor.  I  am  wasting-  fast 
away.     If  he  haste  not  to  catch  tiiC  shadow,  it  will  be  gone 

"  The  people  whom  he  has  appointed  to  guard  nis  poor  pi  ^soncr, 
no  longer  watch  me  as  tluy  tiuce  did.  It  is  useless.  A  few  short 
steps  and  my  feeble  iimbs  bend  to  the  earth,  rcnrmding  me  v.  iiitlaer 
I  am  hastening. 

"  When  1  am  gone,  '»iary  will  carry  you  the  ringlets  which  you 
vere  wont  to  twine  round  your  fir.ger  Send  one  of  them  to  her 
who  should  have  been  my  sister  ;  but  give  not  any  to  my  owi.  Mon- 
tague, for  he  will  pine  over  them  wlien'he  might  be  happy  in  sonie 
new  connexion.  Yet  tell  him  th;it  I  loved  him  to  the  end.  I  believe 
he  sometimes  doubted  of  my  lovt-;  but  tell  him  that  I  bore  him  a 
firm  aiiection.     I'assion  is  unlit  for  the  thhigs  of  this  world. 

*'  1  have  a  letter  from  my  eneniy.    In  two  days  more.    

"  I  have  a  knife  concealed  in  my  bosom.  All  night  it  is  hidden 
beneath  my  pillov,- ;  and  when  my  wear}  eyes  close  for  a  m</ment, 
I  grasp  it,  and  the  chill  touch  rouses  me  v.gain.  Mine  own  dear 
friend,  did  you  think  when  first  you  taught  me  to  join  my  little 
hands  in  prayer,  that  these  hantis  should  be  stained  with  mur- 
der ? ' 

"  Is  it  a  crime  to  die  when  1  can  rio  longer  live  with  innocence  ? 
"When  there  is  no  escape  but  in  the  gra\  e,  is  it  forbidden  to  hide 
me  there  ?  My  n^in<i  grows  feeble  now.  I  cannot  discern  between 
good  and  evil. 

"  Why  is  my  soul  bowed  down  to  the  dust,  as  if  the  fountain  of 
compassioji  were  sealed  ?  1  will  yet  trust  IJim  who  is  tlie  helper 
of  tliose  who  have  no  help  in  nian.  It  may  be  that  he  will  meli  the 
heart  of  my  enemy,  and  move  him  to  let  me  die  in  peace.  Or  per- 
haps even  the  sight  of  my  persecutor  may  be  permitted  to  burst 
the  rending  heart — to  scare  the  trembling  spirit  from  its  prison  — 

••  This  day  is  my  last,  and  it  is  closing  now  !  The  silence  of 
midnight  is  ai'ound  me.  !i;v  it  again  return  a' deeper  nigh.t  shall 
close  for  me,  and  tlie  weary  pilgrim  shall  sink  to  rest.  It  is  time 
that  I  loosen  me  from  the  earth  ;  I  will  not  give  my  Issi  lioirs  trr 
this  land  of  shadows.    Then  fare  vqu  well,  mine  own  dear  friend ! 


180 

You  first  pointed  my  wishes  to  that  better  world  where  I  shall  not 
long  wait  your  coming-.  And  fare  thee  well,  mine  own  Montag-iie  ! 
'l\dcc  comfort.  I  was  not  fit  to  linger  here  ;  for  1  had  desires  that 
cunh.  could  not  satisfy  ;  and  thiisting-s  after  a  perfection  which  this 
weak  heart  could  not  attain.    Farewell — ^I  will  look  back  no  more. 

Jfargrave^s  Letter  to  Laura. 

"  My  dearest  Laura — Tlic  tantalizing- business  which  has  so  long* 
thwarted  my  wishes  will  siill  detain  me  for  two  days.  Your  g-en- 
tle  mind  cannot  imag-ine  what  this  i}*z\iy  cost  me.  V!y  only  recom- 
pense is,  that  it  affords  me  an  opportunity  of  shewing- yoU  some- 
what of  that  consideration  with  which  i  could  always  wish  to  treat 
you.  1  willingly  forego  the  advantage  of  surprise  for  the  sake  of 
allowing  you  to  exercise  that  decision  which  you  are  so  well  quali- 
fied to  use  discreetly.  You  know  Laura  how  I  have  doated  on  you. 
For  near  four  long  years  you  have  been  the  desii'e  of  my  soul ;  and 
now  that  my  happy  d-iring  has  placed  me  within  reach  of  my  ut- 
most wishes.  I  W(»uld  fain  attain  them  without  distress  to  you 

This  is  no  time  for  concealment;  and  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  am 
explicit  with  you.  I  have  known  the  disposition  of  Lady  Pelham's 
fortune  from  tlie  hour  when  it  was  made.  You  know  that  with  all 
my  faults  I  am  not  sordid;  but  circumstances  have  rendered  mo- 
ney necessary  to  me.  Except  in  the  event  of  Lord  Lincoiu't's  death, 
1  cannot  return  to  Pingland  otherwise  than  as  you)-  husband.  1  will 
own  too,  dearest  Laura,  that  after  all  I  have  done,  and  all  that  I 
may  be  compelled  to  do,  I  dare  not  trust  for  pardon  to  your  pity 
alone.  I  must  interest  your  duty  in  my  cause.  Consider  your 
situation,  then,  my  beloved,  and  spare  me  llic  pain  of  distressing 
you.  I  have  watched  you,  implored  you,  pined  for  you — I  have 
borne  your  coldness,  youl  scorn.  I  have  ven. Lured  my  life  to  ob- 
tain you.  Judge  wliether  I  be  of  a  temper  to  be  baulked  of  my  re- 
ward. You  must  be  mine,  bewitching  Laura.  No  cool,  insulting, 
plausible  pretender  can  cheat  me  of  you  now.  Trackless  woods 
<li\ide  you  from  all  human  kind.  I  have  provided,  against  the  pos- 
sibility of  tracing  your  retreat  It  rests  with  you  then  to  choose 
whether  yo\i  will  bies.s  my  love  with  a  willing  and  honourable  i-c- 
wa.rd,  or  force  me  to  extort  the  power  of  bestowing  obligation.— 
-Afy  charming  Laura,  for  now  indeed  I  may  call  you  mine,  pardon, 
iri  consideration  of  its  Sincerity,  the  abrupt  language  1  am  com- 
pelled to  l-.old. — One  thitig  more.  In  three  weeks  I  must  return 
hither.  The  engagement  of  your  British  attemlants  expires  be  lore 
that  time.  I  cannot  for  a  moment  allow  myself  to  suppose  \ hat 
you  vvill  prefer  a  hopeless  solitary  exile  to  the  reparation  which  I 
shall  even  then  be  so  anxious  to  make  ;  to  the  endearments  of  a 
fond  husband,  of  an  impassioned  lover  ;  to  the  envy  and  the  iiomage 
of  an  admirir.g  world.  Suiter  me  rather,  dear  lovely  girl,  lo  exult 
i'l  the  hope  that  you  wiltre<reive,  without  reluctance,  the  man  Iq 


181 

whom  fate  assigns  you,  and  that  you  will  recal  sonl«%hat  of  the 
tenderness  you  once  confessed  for  j'our  own  ever-devoted, 

"  ViLLIERS  HarGRAVE." 

Laura's  Ansiva , 
(Sent  with  tlie  two  foregoing  to  Mrs.  I>oiiglas  :) 

**  I  thought  my  spirit  had  been  broken,  crushed  never  more  to 
rise.  Must  the  g-low  of  indignation  ming-lc  with  the  damps  of  death  ? 
Rut  I  will  not  upbraid  you.  The  language  of  forgiveness  best  befits 
me  now.  The  measure  of  your  injuries  to  me  is  almost  full ;  while 
those  which  you  have  heaped  upon  yourself  are  yet  more  deep  and 
irreparable.  *  My  blasted  fame,  my  life  cut  off  in  its  prime,  even 
the  horrible  dread  that  has  overwhelmed  me,  are  nothing  to  the 
pangs  of  hopeless  remorse,  the  unaccepted  struggle  for  repentance. 
Yet  a  little  while,  and  this  darkness  siiall  burst  into  light  ineffable. 
Yet  a  little  while,  and  this  sorrow  shall  be  as  the  remembrance  of 
a  troubled  dream.     But  you — Oh  Hargrave,  have  pity  on  yovirself. 

"  It  was  not  to  warn,  it  was  to  plead  witli  you,  that  I  won  on  my 
knees  the  consent  of  your  messenger  to  bear  my  reply.  I  will  strive 
to  hope ;  for  you  were  not  always  pitiless,  i  have  seen  you  feel 
for  the  sufferings  of  a  stranger,  and  ha^-e  you  no  mercy  for  me  ? — 
Alas  !  in  those  pitying  tears  I  saw  you  shed,  began  this  long  train 
of  evil ;  for  then  began  my  base  idolatry,  and  justly  have  you  been 
made  the  instrument  of  my  punislnnent. 

**  My  mind  wanders.  1  am  weaker  than  a  child.  Oh  Hargrave, 
if  you  have  human  pity  let  the  feeble  spark  expire  in  peace.  Here, 
where  no  Christian  footstep  shall  hallow  the  turf  that  covers  me, 
nor  song  of  Christian  praise  rise  nea4-  my  grave,  here  let  mc  lay  me 
down  and  die — and  I  will  bless  }  ou  that  I  die  in  peace.  I  dare  i^.ot 
spend  my  parting  breath  in  uttering  unholy  vows,  nor  die  a  volun- 
tary partner  in  your  crimes.  Nor  would  I,  had  my  life  been  pro- 
longed, have  joined  to  pollution  this  dust,  which,  perishable  as  it 
is,  must  rise  to  immortality — which,  vile  as  it  is,  more  vile  as  it 
soon  may  be,  shall  yet  *  put  on  incorruption.'  Why  then  should 
you  come  hither  ?  Will  it  please  you  to  see  this  poor  piece  of  clay, 
for  which  you  hare  ventured  your  soul,  faded  to  an  object  of  hor- 
ror ? — cast  uncofiined  into  the  earth,  robbed  of  the  decencies  which 
Christians  pay  even  to  the  worst  of  sinners  ?  When  you  look  upon 
my  stiffened  corpse  will  you  then  triumph  in  the  security  of  your 
possession  ?  Will  you  again  exult  in  hope  when  you  turn  from  my 
grave  and  say,  *  here  lies  the  wretch  w  hom  I  have  undone  !' 

"  Come  not  I  charge  you,  if  you  would  escape  the  anguish  of  the 
murderer.  When  did  the  evil  of  your  deeds  stop  within  your  first 
intention.?  Do  not  amuse  your  conscience  with  tiic  dream  of  repa- 
ration. I  am  fallen  indeed,  ere  you  dare  insult  me  with  the  thought ! 
W^ill  you  wed  the  dead  ?  Or  could  I  outlive  your  injiu'ies,  think 
you  that  I  would  sink  so  low  as  to  repay  them  with  myself  r — re- 
ward with  VOWS  of  love  a  crime  more  black  than  murder  .'  Though 


■i^-^^KXi^i 


mv  name,  already  degraded  through  you,  must  no  more  claim  al- 
liance with  the  good  and  worthy,  think  you  that  I  would  bind 
mvself  be,fore  heaven  to  a  wretch  'who  owed  his  very  life  to  my 
undeserved  mercy  ?  Inlmma"  '■  Your  insults  have  roused  tV.e  fail- 
ing spirit.  Yet  I  must  q«eil  these  last  stirrings  of  nature.  Instant, 
full,  and  free  must  be  my  forgiveness.;  for  such  is  the  forgiveness 
which  I  shall  soon  require. 

"  Perhaps,  as  now  you  Seem  to  think  me  fit  for  any  baseness, 
you  will  suppose  my  forebodings  a  poor  deceit  to  win  you  from 
your  purpose.  See  then  if  you  can  trace  in  these  unsteady  lines 
the  vigour  of  health.  Ask  him  who  bears  them  to  you,  how' looks 
now  the  face  which  you  call  lovely  ?  Ask  him  if  the  haj\d  which 
gave  this  letter  looks  soft  and  graceful  now  ?  I  love  to  gaze  upon 
it.  It  bids  me  hope,  for  it  is  like  no  living  thing.  Inquire  minutely. 
Ask  if  there  remains  one  charm  to  lure  you  on  to  farther  guilt.— 
And  if  death  has  already  seized  on  all,  if  he  has  spared  nothing  to 
desire,  will  you  yet  hurry  him  on  his  prey  ?  You  have  made  life 
a  burden  too  heavy  for  the  weary  frame.  AVill  you  make  dentli 
too  dreadful  to  be  endured  ?  Will  you  add  to  its  horrors  till  na- 
ture and  religion  shrink  from  it  in  agony  ? 

*'  I  cannot  plead  with  you  as  I  would.  My  strength  fails.  'My 
eyes  are  dim  with  weeping.  Oh  gi'ant  that  this  farewell  may  be 
the  last — that  we  may  meet  no  more  till  I  welcome  you  with  the 
joy  which  angels  feel  over  the  simierthat  repenteth." 

The  whole  of  the  night  preceding  Hargrave's  arrival,  was  passed 
by  Laura  in  acts  of  devotion.  In  her  life,  blameless  as  it  had  ap- 
peared to  others,  she  saw  so  much  gi'ound  for  condemnation,  that, 
had  her  hopes  rested  upon  her  own  merit,  they  would  have  vanish- 
ed like  the  sunshine  of  a  winter  storm.  Their  support  was  more 
mighty ;  and  they  remained  unshaken.  The  raptures  of  faith 
beamed  on  her  soul.  By  degrees  they  triumphed  over  every  fear ; 
and  the  first  sound  that  awoke  the  morning,  was  her  voice  raised 
in  a  trembling  hymn  of  praise. 

Her  countenance  elevated  as  in  hope  ;  her  eyes  cast  upwards  ; 
her  hands  clasped  ;  her  lips  half  open  in  the  unfinished  adoration ; 
her  face  brightened  with  a  smile,  tlie  dawn  of  eternal  day — she 
was  found  by  her  attendant.  Awe-struck,  the  woman  paused,  and 
at  a  reverent  distante  gazed  upon  tlie  seraph  ;  but  her  entrance 
had  called  back  the  unwilling  spirit  from  its  flight  ;  and  Laura, 
once  more  a  feeble  child  of  eartii,  faintly  inquired  whether  her 
enemy  were  at  liand.  Mfuy  answered  that  her  master  was  not  ex- 
pected to  arrive  before  the  evening ;  and  entreated  that  Laura 
would  try  to  recruit  her  spirit!^;,  and  accep*  of  some  refreshment. 
Laura  made  no  opposition.  She  unconsciously  swallowed  what 
■was  placed  before  hcv  ;  unwittingly  suffered  her  attendant  to  lead 
her  abroad  ;  nor  once  heeded  aught  that  w?s  done  to  her,  nor 
aught  that  passed  before  her  eyes,  till  lier  exhausted  limbs  found 
rest  upon  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  which  lay  mouldering  near  UiQ  spot 
where  its  root  Wfts  sending  forth  a  luxuriant  thicket. 


TliG  breath  of  morning  blew  dull  on  t1>€  wasted  form  of  Laura, 
wliile  it  somewhat  revived  her  to  strength  and  recollection.  Her 
attendant  seeing  her  shiver  in  the  breeze,  compassionately  wrap- 
ped her  more  closely  in  her  cloak,  and  ran  to  seek  a  warmer  co- 
verini^.  "She  feels  for  my  bodily  wants/*  said  Laura.  "Will 
she  have  no  pltv  for  the  suflTerings  of  the  soul?  Yet  wiiat  relief 
can  she  afford  ?  What  help  is  there  for  me  in  man  ?  Oh  be  Thou 
iTiv  help  who  art  the  guard  of  the  defenceless  1  Thou  who  canst 
shield  in  every  danger— Thou  who  canst  guide  iii  every  diffi- 
culty." 

Her  eye  rested  as  it  fell  nffen  a  track  as  of  recent  footstep?;. 
They  had  brushed  away  the  dew,  and  the  rank  grass  had  not  }et 
risen  from  their  pressure,  The  unwonted  trace  of  man's  presence 
arrested  her  attention  ;  and  her  mind,  e:vhausted  by  suHering,  and 
sharing  the  weakness  of  its  frail  abode,  admitted  the  supersti- 
tious thought  that  these  marks  afforded  a  providential  indication 
for  her  guidance.  Transient  animation  kindling  in  her  frame,  she 
followed  the  track  as  it  wound  round  a  thicket  of  poplar;  then, 
suddenly  recollecting  herself,  she  became  conscious  of  the  delu- 
sion, and  shed  a  tear  over  her  menial  decay. 

Slie  was  about  to  return,  when  she  perceived  that  she  was  near 
the  bank  of  the  river.  Its  dark  flood  was  stealing  noiseless  by,  and 
Laura,  looking  on  it,  breathed  the  oft  repeated  wish  that  she  could 
seek  rest  beneath  its  vavcs.  Again  she  moved  feebly  forward. 
She  reached  the  brink  of  the  stream,  and  stood  unconsciously  fol- 
lowing its  course  with  her  eye  ;  when  a  light  wind  stirring  the 
canes  that  grew  down  to  the  water  edge,  she  beheld  close  by  her 
an  Indian  canoe.  With  suddenness  that  mocks  the  speed  of  light, 
hope  flashed  on  the  darkened  soul ;  and,  stretching  her  arms  in 
wild  ecstacy,  "  Help,  help,"  cried  Laura,  and  sprung  towards 
the  boat.  A  feeble  echo  from  the  further  shore  alone  returned 
the  cry.  Again  she  called.  No  human  voice  replied.  But  deli- 
rious transport  lent  vigour  to  her  frame.  She  sprung  into  the 
bark  ;  she  pressed  the  slender  oar  ligainst  the  bank.  The  light 
vessel  yielded  to  her  touch.  It  flotited.  The  stream  bore  it  along. 
The  woods  closed  around  her  prison.  "Thou  hast  delivered 
me  !"  she  cried  ;  and  sunk  senseless. 

A  meridian  sun  beat  on  her  uncovered  head  ere  Laura  began  to 
revive.  Recollection  stole  upon  her  like  the  remembrance  of  a 
ieverish  dream.  As  one  who,  waking  from  a  fearfvd  vision,  still 
trembles  in  his  joy,  she  scarcely  dared  to  hope  that  the  dread  hour 
was  past,  till  raising  her  eyes  she  saw  the  dai'k  woods  bend  over 
lier,  and  steal  slov/ly  away  as  the  canoe  glided  on  witli  the  tide. 
The  raptures  of  fallen  man  own  their  alliance  with  pain,  by  seek- 
ing the  sumo  expression.  Joy  and  gratitude,  too  big  for  utterance, 
long  poured  themselves  forth  in  tears.  At  length  returning  com- 
S-osure  permittiiig  the  language  of  ecstacy,  it  was  breathetlin 
■  ;je  accents  of  devotion  j  and  tiie  lone  wild  echoed  to  a  song  of 
'.ieHverauco. 


184 

The  saintly  strain  arose  unmixed  with  other  sound.  No  breeze 
moaned  throug-h  the  impervious  woods.  No  ripple  broke  the 
stream.  The  dark  shadows  trembled  for  a  moment  in  its  bosom 
as  the  little  bark  stole  by,  and  then  reposed  ag^ain.  No  trace  ap- 
peared of  human  presence.  The  fox  peeping  from  the  brushwood, 
the  wild  duck  sailing-  stately  in  the  stream,  saw  the  unwonted 
strang-er  without  alarm,  untaught  as  yet  to  flee  from  the  des- 
i:royer. 

The  day  declined  ;  and  Laura,  with  the  joy  of  her  escape,  be- 
gun to  mingle  a  wish,  that,  ere  the  darkness  closed  around  her, 
she  might  find  shelter  near  her  fellow  being-s.  She  was  not  igno- 
rant of  tlie  dangers  of  her  voyage.  She  knew  that  the  navigation 
of  the  rivep  was  interrupted  by  rapids.  A  cataract  which  broke 
its  course  had  been  purposely  described  in  her  hearing.  She  ex- 
amined her  frail  vessel  and  trembled  ;  for  life  was  again  become 
precious,  and  feebl^ seemed  her  defence  against  tlie  torrent.  The 
canoe,  which  could  not  have  contained  more  tlian  two  persons, 
was  constructed  of  a  slender  frame  of  wood,  covei*ed  with  the  bark 
of  the  birch.  It  yielded  to  the  slightest  motion,  and  caution  was 
necessary  to  poise  in  it  even  the  light  form  ©f  Laura, 

Slowly  it  floated  down  thb  lingering  tide  ;  and,  when  a  pine  of 
larger  size  or  form  more  fantastic  than  his  fellows  enabled  her  to 
measure  her  progress,  she  thought  that  through  wilds  less  impas- 
sable her  own  limbs  v/ould  have  borne  her  more  swiftly.  In  vain 
behind  eacli  tangled  point  did  her  fancy  picture  the  haunt  of  man. 
Vainly  amid  the  mists  of  eve  did  she  trace  the  smoke  of  sheltered 
cottages.  In  vain  at  every  winding  of  the  stream  she  sent  forward 
a  longing  eye  in  search  of  human  dwelling.  The  narrow  view 
was  bounded  by  tb.e  dark  wilderness,  repeating  ever  the  same  pic- 
ture of  dreary  repose. 

The  sun  went  down.  The  shadows  of  evening  fell ;  not  such 
as  in  her  happy  native  land  blend  softly  with  the  last  radiance  of 
day ;  but  black  and  heav}',  harshly  contrasting  with  the  light  of  a 
naked  sky  reflected  from  the  waters,  where  they  spread  beyond 
the  gloom  of  impending  woods.  Dark,  and  more  dark  the  night 
came  on.  Solemn  even  amid  the  peopled  land,  in  tliis  vast  soli- 
tude it  became  more  awful.  Ignorant  how  near  the  place  of  dan- 
ger might  be,  fearing  to  pursue  darkling  her  perilous  way,  Laura 
tried  to  steer  her  light  bark  to  the  shore,  intending  to  moor  it,  to 
find  in  it  a  rude  resting-place,  and  in  the  morning  to  pursue  her 
way.  Laboriously  she  toiled,  and  at  length  reached  the  bank  in 
safety  ;  but  in  vain  she  tried  to  draw  her  little  vessel  to  land.  Its 
weight  resisted  her  strength.  Dreading  that  it  should  slip  from 
her  grasp  and  leave  her  without  means  of  escape,  she  re-entered 
it,  and  again  glided  on  in  her  dismal  voyage.  She  had  found  in 
the  canoe  a  little  coarse  bread  made  of  Indian  corn  ;  and  this,  with 
the  water  of  the  river,  formed  her  whole  sustenance.  Her  frame 
worn  out  with  previous  suffering,  awe  and  fear  at  la^t  yielded  to 
fatigue  ;  and  tlie  weary  wanderer  sunk  to  sleep. 


185 

i:  ;.  ..o  i..Lo  ou  il;u  iiiOrnin^  oCa  cli;iu"._.  .w^.,  \..,zn  .a  low  r.uL:- 
jnunng-  sound  stealing  on  the  silence  awoke  Laura  from  the  rest  of 
innocence.  She  listened.  The  murmur  seemed  to  sv/ellonher 
^ar.  Slie  looked  up.  The  dark  woods  slill  bent  over  her.  But 
they  no  long-cr  touched  the  margin  of  tlie  stream.  They  stretch- 
ed tlieir  giant  arms  from  the  summit  of  a  precipice.  Their  image 
was  no  more  reflected  unbroken.  Tiie  gray  rocks  which  support- 
ed them  but  half  lent  their  colours  to  the  rippling  water.  The 
wild  duck,  no  longer  tempting  the  stream,  flew  screaming  overits 
bed.  Each  object  hastened  on  with  fearful  rapidity,  and  the  mur- 
muring sound  was  now  a  deafening  roar. 

Fear  supplyirg'  super-human  strength,  Laura  strove  to  turn  the 
course  of  her  vessel.  S!.e  strained  every  nerve  ;  she  used  the  force 
of  desperation.  Half-hoping  that  the' strug-gle  might  save  her, 
i)alf- fearing  to  note  her  dreadful  progress,  she  toiled  on  till  the  oar 
was  torn  from  her  powerless  grasp,  and  hurried  along  with  the 
I;  de. 

'i'iie  fear  of  death  alone  had  not  the  power  to  overwhelm  the 
soul  of  Laura.  Somewhat  might  yet  be  done  perhaps  to  avert  hei' 
f.ite,  at  lea.st  to  p/cpare  for  it.  Feeble  as  was  the  chance  of  life  j  it 
was  not  to  be  rejected.  Fixing  her  cloak  more  firmly  round  her, 
I^uura  bound  it  to  the  slender  frame  of  the  canoe.  Then  commend- 
ing herself  to  heaven  with  the  fervour  of  a  last  prayer,  she,  in 
dread  stillness,  awaited  her  doom. 

With  terrible  speed  the  vessel  hurried  on.  ItAvas  whirled  roimd 
b}'  the  torrent — tossed  fearfully — and  hurrie^l  on  again.  It  shot 
over  a  smoothness  more  dreadful  than  the  eddying  whirl.  It  rose 
upon  its^prow.  La\u*a  clung-  to  it  in  the  convulsion  oi"  terror.  A 
moment  she  trembled  on  the  giddy  rerge.  The  next,  all  was 
vlarkness  !  V 


CKAPTER  XXXIV. 

Wken  Laura  vv^astestored  to  recollection,  she  found  herself  in 
u  plain  decent  apa^ment.  Several  persons  of  her  own  sex  were 
Iiumanely  busie^in  attending  her.  Her  mind  retaining  a  <ronfus- 
ed  remembrixuce  of  the  past,  she  Inquired  where  she  v/as,  and  how 
she  had  been  brought  tliither.  An  elderly  woman,  of  a  prepossess- 
ing appearance,  answered  with  almost  maternal  kindness,  "that 
she  was  among  friends  all  anxious  for  her  safety  ;  begged  that  she 
would'  try  to  sleep  ;  and  promised  to  satisfy  her  curiosity  when 
she  should  be  more  able  to  converse.'*  This  benevolent  person, 
vhose  name  was  Falkland,  then  administered  a  restorative  to  her 
patient;  and  Laura,  uttering  almost  incoliereat  expressions  of 
L;raiitude,  composed  herself  to  rest. 


186 

AwakeLing-  refrcslied  and  collected,  she  found  Mrs,  Falkknc; 
and  one  of  her  daughters  still  watching*  by  her  bed-side.  L&ui\ 
ag-ain  repeated  her  questions,  and  Mrs.  Falkland  fulfilled  her  pro- 
mise, by  relating"  that  her  husband,  v/ho  was  a  farmer,  having- been 
employed  with  his  two  sons  in  a  field  which  overlooked  the  river, 
had  observed  the  canoe  approach  the  full :  that  seeing  it  too  lata 
■  6  prevent  the  accident,  they  had  liurried  down  to  the  bed  of  the 
:.lream  below  the  cataract,  in  hopes  of  intercepting  the  boat  at  its 
appearance  :  That  being  accustomed  to  float  wood  down  the  tor- 
rent, they  knew  precisely  the  spot  where  their  assistance  was 
:inost  likely  to  prove  eilectual  :  That  the  canoe,  though  covered 
with  foam  for  a  moment,  had  instantly  risen  again,  and  that  Mr, 
Falkland  and  his  sons  had,  not  without  danger,  succeeded  in 
drawing-  it  to  land."  She  then,  in  her  turn,  inq'iircd  by  what  ac- 
cident Laura  had  been  exposed  to  such  a  perilovis  adventure  ;  ex- 
pressing- her  wonder  at  the  direction  of  her  voyage,  since  Falkland 
farm  was  the  last  inhabited  spot  in  that  district.  Laura,  ming- 
ling her  natural  reserve  with  a  desire  to  satisfy  her  kind  hostess, 
answered,  that  she  had  been  torn  from  her  friends  by  an  inlmman 
enemy,  and  that  her  perilous  voyage  v/as  the  lea.st  effect  of  his 
barbarity.  *•  Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Falkland,  somewhat  mis- 
taking- her  meaning-,  **  that  to  his  cruelty  you  partly  owe  your 
life  ;  for  had  he  not  bound  you  to  the  canoe,  you  must  have  sunk 
while  the  boat  floated  on."  Laura  heard  with  a  faint  smile  the  ef- 
fect of  her  self-possession  ;  but  considering  it  as  a  call  to  pious 
gratitude  rather  than  a  theme  of  self-applause,  she  forbore  to  offer 
any  claim  to  praise  ;  and  suffered  the  subject  to  drop  without  fur- 
ther explanation. 

Having-  remained  for  two  days  with  this  hosj)itable  family,  Lau- 
ra expressed  a  wish  to  depart.  She  communicated  to  Mr.  Falk- 
land her  desire  of  returning  immediately  to  Europe  ;  and  begged 
that  he  would  introduce  her  to  some  asylum  wliere  she  might  wait 
the  departure  of  a  vessel  for  Britain.  She  expressed  her  willing- 
ness to  content  herself  with  the  poorest  accommodation,  confess- 
ing that  she  had  not  the  means  of  purchasing  any  of  a  higher  class. 
All  the  wealth,  indeed,  which  she  could  command,  consisted  in  a 
few  guineas  which  she  had  accidentally  had  about  her  when  she 
was  taken  from  her  home ;  and  a  ring  which  Mrs.  De  Courcv  had 
given  her  at  parting.  Her  hosts  kindly  urged  her  to  remain  with 
them  till  they  should  ascertain  that  a  vessel  was  immediately  to 
«ail,  in  which  she  might  secure  her  passage  ;  assuring  her  that  a 
week  scarcely  ever  elapsed  without  some  departure  for  her  native 
country.  Finding,  however,  that  she  was  anxious  to  begone,  Mr. 
Falkland  himself  accompanied  her  to  Quebec.  They  travelled  by 
land.  The  country  at  first  bore  the  characters  of  a  half-redeemed 
wilderness.  The  road  wound  at  times  through  dreary  woods,  at 
others  through  fields  where  noxious  variety  of  hue  bespoke  im- 
perfect cultivation.  At  last  it  approached  the  great  river  ;  and 
Laura  gazed  with  delight  on  the  ever-changing,  rich,  and  beautiful 
J^cenes  which  were  pr«5«nted  to  her  view ;  scenes  which  she  had 


187 

passed  Uiiiiecded  when  {p-ief  and  fear  veiicri  every  prospect  i-.: 
i^loom.  One  of  the  nuns  in  the  Hotel  lyicn  was  the  sister  of  Mre 
l-Vikland  ;  and  to  her  care  Mr.  l-'alkland  intended  to  commit  his 
charge.  But  before  he  had  been  an  hour  in  tlio  town,  he  received 
information  that  a  ship  was  weig-hing"  anchor  for  the  Clyde,  and 
Laura  cag'er]y  embraced  the  opportunity.  Tlie  captain  being"  in- 
formed by  Mr.  Falkhand,  that  she  could  not  advance  the  price  of 
lier  passage,  at  first  hesitated  to  receive  her;  but  when,  with  the 
irresistible  candour  and  majesty  that  shone  in  all  her  looks  and 
words,  she  assured  him  of  his  reward  ;  when  she  spoke  to  him  in 
the  accents  of  his  native  land,  the  Scotsman's  heart  melted  ;  and 
having  satisfied  himself  that  she  was  a  Highlander,  he  closed  the 
bargain,  by  swearing  that  he  was  sure  he  might  trust  her.  With 
tears  in  her  eyes,  Laura  took  leave  of  her  benevolent  host ;  yet  her 
heart  bounded  with  joy  as  she  saw  the  vessel  cleaving  the  tide,  and 
each  object  in  the  dreaded  lar.d  of  exile  swiftly  retiring  from  her 
view.  In  a  few  days  that  dreaded  land  disappeared.  In  a  few 
more  the  mountains  of  Cape  Breton  sunk  behind  tlie  wave.  The 
brisk  gales  of  autumn  wafted  the  vessel  cheerfully  on  her  way ; 
and  often  did  Laura  compute  her  progress. 

In  a  clear  frosty  morning  towards  the  end  of  September,  she 
heard  once  more  the  cry  of  land  ! — now  music  to  her  ear.  Now 
with  a  beating  breast  she  ran  to  gaze  upon  a  ridge  of  mountains  in- 
denting the  disk  of  the  rising  sun  ;  but  the  tears  of  rapture  dim- 
med her  eyes,  when  every  voice  at  once  shouted  **  Scotland  !'* 

All  day  Laura  remained  on  deck,  oft  measuring,  with  the  light 
vsplinter,'the  vessel's  course  through  the  deep.  The  winds  favour- 
ed not  her  impatience.  Towards  evening  they  died  away,  and 
scarcely  did  the  vessel  steal  along  the  liquid  mirror.  Another  and 
another  morning  came,  and  Laura's  ear  was  blessed  with  the  first 
sounds  of  her  native  land.  The  tolling-  of  a  bell  was  borne  along 
the  water ;  nov/  swelling  loud,  and  now  falling  softly  away.  The 
humble  village  church  was  seen  on  the  shore  ;  and  Laura  could 
distinguish  the  gay  colouring  of  her  country-women's  Simday  at- 
tire— the  scarlet  plaid,  transnriitted  from  generation  to  f^cneration, 
pinned  decently  over  the  plain  clean  coif— the  bright  blue  gown, 
the  trophy  of  more  recent  housewife^3^  To  her  every  form  in  the 
well-known  garb  seemed  the  form  of  a  friend.'  The  blue  moun- 
tains in  the  distance — ^the  scattered  woods — the  fields  yellow  with 
the  harvest — the  river  sparkling  in  the  sun,  seemed,  to  the  wan- 
derer returning  from  the  land  of  strangers,  fairer  than  the  gardens 
of  Paradise. 

Land  of  my  aflTections ! — when  "  I  forget  thee,  may  my  right 
hand  forget  her  cunning  V*  Blessed  be  thou  among  nations  !  Long^ 
may  thy  wanderers  return  to  thee  rejoicing,  and  their  hearts 
throb  with  honest  pride  when  they  own  themselves  thy  chil- 
dren \ 

The  vessel  at  last  cast  anchor,  and  all  was  cheerfid  bustle  ; 
every  one  eager  to  hurry  ashore.  Some  hastened  to  launch  the 
boat ;  some  ran  below  to  geek  out  the  little  offeringe  of  love  which 


188 

liicy  iiad  Drought  for  their  frieiuls.  Never  had  Laura  iieard  souiiir 
so  animating-  as  the  cry  of  *' all  ready!"  followed  by  tiie  li^ht 
shoi-t  stroke  of  the  oar  tiiat  sent  her  swiftly  forward.  Many  a 
wistful  g^lance  did  the  rowers  turn.  "  There's  mother  on  the  pier- 
liead  !"  cried  one.  "  I  see  Annie  and  tlie  bairns  i"  cried  another  : 
and  the  oar  was  plied  more  swifjy.  'I'he}-  landed.  The  shout  of 
joy,  and  the  whisper  of  afftrciion  were  exchanged  on  every  side. 
Laura  stood  back  from  ihti  tuniuk,  breathing-  a  silent  thanksgiv- 
ing on  behalf  of  herself  and  her  companions.  "  Poor  lassie  I"  said 
the  captain,  approachip.g  atr,  *'  is  tliere  naebody  to  v/elcome  thee  ? 
Come  !  I'm  goiitg  up  to  Glasgow  ihe  night  to  see  my  wife  and  the 
owners  ;  and  if  ye  like  to  gang  wl'  me,  ye'll  he  sae  far  on  your 
way  to  }our  friends."  Loura  thankfully  accepted  the  proposal  ; 
and  tiie  fly-boat  btii^g  just  about  to  sail  up  the  river,  she  placed 
in  it  tiie  little  packet  of  r>ecessaries  which  she  had  collecttid  at 
Quebec,  and  accompanied  the  good-natured  sailor  to  his  home. 

She  was  kindly  receivc-d  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  furnish- 
ed with  the  best  accommodations  they  could  command.  The  next 
morning  she  gave  the  captahi  a  draft  for  the  price  of  her  passage  ; 
and  producing  her  purse  and  .Mrs.  De  Courcy^s  ring,  oftered  them 
as  further  secui-ity  ;  saying,  that  as  she  was  now  in  her  own  coun- 
try, a  few  shillings  would  support  her  till  she  reached  lier  friends, 
since  she  might  travel  to  Pertlishire  on  foot.  The  sailor,  however, 
positively  refused  to  accept  of  any  thing  more  than  the  drafr, 
swearing  that  if  he  were  deceived  in  Laura,  be  v^oukl  never  trust 
woman  again.  He  then,  at  her  desire,  procured  her  a  seat  in 
the  stage-coach,  and  once  more  she  proceeded  on  her  journey. 

At  a  small  village,  a  few  miles  from  Pertli,  she  desired  to  be  set 
down.  A  by-road  led  from  the  village  to  Mr.  Douglas's  parish. 
The  distance  was  said  to  be  only  seven  miles  ;  and  Laura,  forget- 
ting tlie  latitude  allowed  to  Scottish  measurement,  thought  she 
might  easily  reach  the  parsonage  before  night-fall.  Leaving  her 
little  parcel  at  the  village,  she  hastened  forward; — ^now  pausing  a 
moment  as  some  well-known  peak  or  cliif  met  lier  eye,  now  bound- 
ing on  wi- ;^  the  light  step  of  joy.  She  pictui*ed  the  welcome  of  af. 
fection  ;  already  she  saw  the  mild  countenance  of  lier  early  friend  ; 
already  she  felt  the  eiPvbrace  of  love.  .^ 

•  Darkness  surprised  her  v/hen  she  had  yet  mucli  of  her  journey 
to  perform,  and  had  shrouded  every  object  ere  she  reached  the 
well-known  gate,  and  saw  across  the  nai-row  lawn  the  lights  stream- 
ing from  the  window.  She  stopped — fear  stealing  on  her  joy.  In 
five  months  what  changes  miglit  not  have  happt^ned  !  Her  friend, 
her  mother,  might  be  ill,  might  be  dead  ?  So  m-.ist  weak  man  miti- 
g:ite  with  the  prospect  of  evil,  the  transports  which  belong  not  to 
his  inheritance  !  She  again  proceeded.  She  entered  Ihe  hall.  The 
parlmu-  door  was  open.  A  group  of  cheerful  fices  appeared,  ruddy 
with  youth  and  health  ;  but  Laura's  eye  rested  on  one  of  more  ma* 
ture,  more  interesting-  grace, — one  shaded  with  untimely  silver, 
and  lighted  up  with  milder  fires.  She  remained  motionless,  fear- 
ing to  surprise  her  friend  by  too  suddenly  appearing,  till  one  of  ibe 


8#' 


g-irls,  observing"  lier,  exclaimed,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  "  Laura  ! 
Mamma !  Laura !"  Mrs.  Doug-las  sprung  from  her  seat  ;  and  the 
welcome  of  affection,  the  embrace  of  love,  were  reality  ! 

The  first  burst  of  j^ladness  was  succeeded  by  the  solicitous  in- 
quiry, by  the  interestint^  narrative  ;  and  Laura  beg"uiled  her  friend 
of  many  tears  by  the  story  of  her  sad  vo\  ag-o,  her  hopeless  captivi- 
ty, her  perilous  escape.  Tears,  too,  of  real  bitterness  rose  to 
her  own  eyes,  at  tlie  thoug-lit  that,  althoug-h  she  h;id  escaped  from 
the  cruelty  of  her  oppressor,  yet  its  consequences  must  be  lasting 
as  her  life  ;  and  that  she  was  now  pouring-  her  story  perhaps  into 
the  only  ear  that  would  be  open  to  her  protestations  of  innocence. 
But  she  would  not  cloud  the  hour  of  joy  by  calling  the  attention 
of  her  friend  to  the  shade  that  rested  on  her  prospects  ;  nor  di- 
minish her  own  gratitude  for  deliverance  from  more  real  misfor- 
tune, by  anticipating  the  scoi'ns  of  the  world.  She  uttered  not  the 
faintest  foreboding  of  evil,  b\it  continued  with  serene  cheerfulness 
to  *  charm  as  she  was  wont  to  do,'  till  at  a  late  hour  the  friendly 
party  separated  for  the  night. 

Weary  as  she  was,  T-.aura  could  not  rest.  She  had  a  task  to 
perform  too  painful  to  be  thought  of  with  indifference.  It  was  ne- 
cessary to  write  to  De  Courcy  ;  and  to  damp  all  the  pleasure  which 
a  knowledge  of  her  safety  would  convey,  by  retracting  engage- 
ments which  had  been  made  when  her  allianbcj  inferred  no  disho- 
nour. She  well  knew  that  De  Courcy  himself,  convinced  of  her  in- 
nocence, would  spurn  tlie  idea  of  forsaking  her  in  misfortune, — of 
giving,  by  his  desertion,  a  sanction  to  calumny.  And  should  she 
take  advantage  of -his  honour  and  his  love  to  fix  in  his  heart  tlie 
incurable  anguish  of  following  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom  the  glance 
of  suspicion  or  of  scorn  !  The  world's  neglect  was  trivial  in  hev 
estimation.  Even  its  reproaches  mi^t  be  endured  by  one  who 
could  appeal  from  its  sentence  to  a  higher  tribunal.  But  what 
should  ease  the  heart  whose  best  affections  were  turned  to  poison 
by  domestic  shame  ;  the  heart  jealous  of  the  honour  which  it 
could  not  defend,  bleeding  at  the  stab  from  which  it  dared  not 
recoil  ? 

Laura  had  already  taken  her  resolution,  and  the  next  day  saw  it 
effected.  She  wrote  to  De  Courcy,  detailing  minutely  every  event 
that  had  befallen  her  from  the  hour  of  their  separation  till  her 
landing  in  Britain.  There  her  narrative  closed.  She  told  not  in 
what  spot  the  wanderer  had  found  rest.  She  did  not  even  inti- 
mate in  what  part  of  the  island  she  had  disembarked,  lest  it  should 
furnish  a  clue  to  her  present  retreat.  Nor  did  she,  by  expressions 
of  tfenderness  and  regret,  aggravate  the  pang  which  she  was  com- 
pelled to  inflict.  In  words  like  these  she  proceeded.  **  And  now, 
my  respected  fricml,  I  imagine  you  pausing  to  offer  a  thanksgiv- 
ing for  yourself  and  me.  Let  it  not  damp  your  just  gratitude  that 
somewhat  of  evil  is  permitted  to  mingle  with  this  signal  deliver- 
ance. Let  not  my  escape  from  a  misfoitune  the  most  dreadful  be 
forgotten,  even  though  the  world  should  refuse  to  believe  in  that 

cape.    For  thus  it  must  be.    Known  to  have  been  in  the  power 


190 

of  that  bad  man,  will  tlie  harsh-judf^ing"  world  believe  me  inno- 
cent ?  Will  it  be  believed  that  he  ventured  to  cast  his  very  life  up- 
on my  merC}-,  by  drag-.^ing-  me  unwillinj^  from  my  hom.e  ?  So  long 
the  sport  of  his  lingoverned  passions,  will  it  be  believed  that  I  have 
not  even  seen  liim  ? 

'*  I  know  it  will  be  difficult  to  convince  you  that  an  unjust  sen- 
tence can  be  pronounced  ftgainst  me.  Certain  yourself  of  the 
truth  of  my  story,  you  imng-ine  that  it  will  find  easy  credence  with 
others.  B'lt  even  if  ^ve  coidd  chanf*'c  tiie  r.atu''e  of  man,  and 
teach  strangers  to  jud^je  witii  the  candour  of  friendship,,  who  shall 
furnish  them  with  the  materials  for  judging-  ?  Not  he,  who,  in  cor- 
roborating' my  tale,  nmst  publish  his  owji  disgrace  !  Not  the  weak 
l.aura,  who,  by  a  const-tutional  defect,  shrinks  even  from  the  eye 
where  she  cannot  read  distrust  ! 

"  Consider  all  this,  and  you  will  at  once  perceive  the  reasons 
which  induce  me  to  conceal  myself  from  you  for  a  time.  Engage- 
ments formed  vmder  circumstances  now  so  materially  changed  I 
cannot  consider  as  binding.  You,  I  fear,  mav  think  otherv/ise,  and 
be  hurried  on  by  your  generous  nature  to  tempt  a  fate  which  that 
very  turn  of  mind  would  render  insupporcable.  My  own  part  in 
this  fate  I  think  I  can  bear.  The  share  which  would  fall  upon  you, 
I  own  Avould  crush  me  to  the  dust.  My  spirits  ai-e  not  yet  what 
they  have  been.  I  am  weary  of  struggling  with  a  pervQj-se  heart, 
ever  leading  me  aside  from  duty.  I  will  not  lend  it  arms  by  ex- 
posing myself  to  entreaties  and  argumei-ts  to  which  I  cannot  yield 
without  betraying  my  best  friend  to  anguish  unpitied  and  hopeless; 
anguish  which  v/ould  bear  with  double  pressure  on  my.s€lf. 

"  A  stain  is  fallen  on  my  good  name,  and  •  the  glory  has  depart- 
ed from  me.'  Be  it  so  !  He  who  doth  all  things  well,  hath  chosen 
my  lot,  and  His  choice  shall  be  n)ine.  I  trust  l  shall  be  enabled  to 
act  as  becomes  one  who  is'  degraded  in  the  public  eye  I  have 
sometimes  shrunk  from  the  approbation  of  the  world — that  little 
circle  I  mean  which  v.*eare  apt  to  call  the  world.  Xow  I  will  hide 
me  from  its  censure;  and  shall  find  in  the  duties  v.hich  peculiarly 
belong  to  the  fallen — ^the  duties  of  humility,  of  charity,  and  of  de- 
votion— enough  to  make  life  still  no  unplcasing  pilgrimage.  A 
good  name  has  l>een  justly  likened  to  a  jewel — precious,  not  neces- 
sary. But  if  you,  my  dear  friend,  covet  fame  for  me,  look  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  an  assembled  universe  sliall  behold  my  ac- 
quittal, when  a  Judge,  before  whom  the  assenibled  universe  is  us 
nothing,  shall  proclaim  me  for  his  own." 

This  letter  Laura  accompanied  with  another,  in  v.'hich  slie  beg- 
ged Mrs.  De  Courcy's  assistance  in  rcconcilitig  her  son  to  the 
change  "in  his  prospects.  Both  vv-ere  inclosed  by  Mr.  Douglas  to  a 
friend  in  London,  who  was  dii*ectedto  forward  them  by  post;  thus 
avoiding  any  trace  of  the  quaiter  from  wr.ence  they  came. 

Her  lotth'us'chosen,  Laura  began  to  make  arrangements  for  en- 
tering on  a  mode  of  life  befitting  her  situation.  Fearing  that  the 
shaft  of  slander  should  glance  aside  i'i\y>n  hersclftotjie  friends  wha 


101 

still  clunprto  lier,  she  steadily  ic  /.  :  i  Mrs.  Doug-la./..  v..  ;ii,  i.  . . 
tatioHH  to  make  the  parsonag-c  her  h(;:nc.  Her  fiither's  little  iurm 
at  Cilenalbert  had  been  annexed  to  one  of  larger  size.  The  cott;;t)^e 
remained  untenaiited,  and  thither  Laura  determined  to  retire,  llcr 
fortr.ne,  however  far  from  affluent,  she. thoiirfht  wrntid  .suflicc  to 
support  the  humble  establishment  which  s'le  meant  to  rttaiu.  One 
servant  was  sufficient  for  her  who  had  been  accustomed  to  "inake 
few  claims  on  the  assistance  of  others.  To  obviate  ti)e  impropriety 
of  livin,^  alone  while  yetextrenic  youth  made  even  nominal  protec- 
tion valuable,  she  invited  an  elderly  widow  lady,  poorj  but  respect- 
able, to  preside  in  her  household,  la  nccessnry  preparatioi  s  for 
her  removal  to  Glenalbert,  in  affectionate  assiduities  to  the  friends 
with  whom  she  resided,  in  compensating  to  her  own  poor  for  her 
long-,  tliongh  involuntary  neg-lecl  of  iheit  claim«,  Laiu'a  sought  a 
refuse  from  painful  reflection  ;  and,  if  a  sigh  arose  at  the  review  of 
her  aliei-cd  prospects,  she  called  to  mind  lier  deliverance,  and  re- 
gret was  exchang-ed  for  thankfulness.  The  vain  mig^t  have  be- 
wailed a  seclusion  thus  unliruei\,  thus  perrr*anent;  the  worldly 
noinded  might  have  mourned  tlie  foneitiiro  of  •ai'thly  prosperity; 
any  spirit,  unsupport'.d  by  religion,  nius;  have  sunk  under  unme- 
rited disgrace,  embittered  by  a  keen  sense  of  shame  and  constitu- 
tional timidity.  Laura  was  a  chrisiian^ftd  she  could  even  at  tintes 
rejoice  that  the  spirit  of  vaniy  was  nJ»iHcd,  the  temptations  of 
the  world  withdrawn  ;  even  where  thelSio^'  was  more  })ainful,  she 
liumbly  believed  that  it  was  ncces.'^ary,  i.iv^  ":  >  J.  i-.lly  owned  that 
it  w^as  kind. 

The  arrangements  for  her  new  establishment  were  soon  com- 
pleted, and  tlie  time  cuine  when  i^anra  wils  to  begin  her  life  of  se- 
clusion. Tlie  day  before  her  intev.ded  :  (^moval  she  completed  her 
twentieth  year;  arid  Mrs.  Dougl:;s  wo^Ai  have  assembled  a  little 
group  of  friends  to  celebrate  the  occsppn.  but  Laura  steadily  op- 
posed  it.  "  Let  not  one  who  is  suspected,  *  said  she,  *'  assume 
the  boldness  of  innocence!  yet,  since  t!ie  suspicion  wrongs  me,  I 
will  not  wear  tr.e  melancholy  of  guilt.  Give  the  children  a  holiday 
for  my  sake,  and  I  shall  be  as  playful  and  as  silly  as  the  voungcst 
of  them."  The  holiday  was  granted ;  and  Laura,  amidst  the  jo3iul 
noisy  little  company  that  soon  assembled  fOund  her,  forgot  that 
she  was  an  outcast.  " 

She  was  busily  searching  ever}'  corner  for  the  hidden  handker- 
chief, the  little  rogue  who  had  concealed  it  hi  his  shoe  laugl.  ng 
the  while  and  clappinpr  his  hands  in  delight,  when  she  smarted  at 
tlie  voice  of  a  stranger  in  the  lobby,  who  wa^  announcing'  thai  he 
had  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Douglas,  which  he  could  deliver  to  no  person 
but  herself.  The  next  moment  the  stranger  was  shown  into  the 
room,  and  Laui  a  with  amazement  beheld  her  American  attendant. 
The  amazement  on  his  part  ^'^J|||^  greater.  He  started,  he  trem- 
bled, and  at  first  shrunk  frqaoflSfflKlTa .  then  eagerly  advancing  to- 
wards her,  **  Bier.s  my  soui.  Madam!"  he  exclaiined,  •*  are  you 
alive?  Then  Mary's  wpl'ds  tu:e  trae,  and  th$  angels  watch  over 
vou.'* 


192 

It  was  some  time  before  the  man's  astonishment  would  permit, 
him  to  declare  his  errand.  At  last  when  his  curiosity  had  been 
partial!}  satisfied,  he  w:is  prevailed  upon  to  enter  on  his  narrative. 
"  You  may  remember.  Madam,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  to 
Laura,  "  it  was  the  morning  we  expected  my  master,  (though  I 
told  Mary,  for  a  make-believe,  that  he  would  not  come  till  even- 
ing,) that  morning  Mary  took  you  out  and  left  you;  for  which  I 
w:is  mortal  angry  with  her,  for  my  mind  misgave  me  that  some 
mischief  would  come  of  it.  So  she  ran  down  to  the  place  where 
she  left  you  sitting,  but  you  were  not  there.  Then  slie  looked  all 
about,  but  she  could  see  you  no  where.  She  was  afraid  to  go 
among  the  canes,  for  fear  of  the  rattlesnakes,  so  she  ran  home  and 
told  me.  So  1  went  with  her,  scolding  her  to  be  sure  all  the  way. 
Well,  we  sought  and  sought,  till  at  last,  half  in  the  water  and  half 
on  the  shore,  we  found  your  hat ;  and  then  to  be  sure  none  of  us 
never  doubted  tliat  you  had  drowned  yourself;  and  Mary  cried 
and  wrung  her  hands  like  a  distracted  creature,  saying  that  my 
master  was  a  wicked  wretch  that  liad  broken  your  heart,  and  often 
and  often  she  wished  that  we  could  find  you  to  give  you  cliristian 
burial,  for  she  said  she  was  sure  your  ghost  would  never  let  her 
rest  in  her  bed.  But  we  liad  no  drags,  nor  any  thing  to  take  you 
up  with  out  of  the  water.  Well,  we  were  just  in  the  midst  of  all 
our  troubles  when  my  master  came.  *'  Well,  llobert,"  says  he,  in 
his  hearty  -way,  "  Where  is  my  angel  ?''  1  had  not  the  heart  to  say 
a  word;  so  with  that  Mai'y  ran  forward  sobbing  like  a  baby,  and 
says  she,  just  offhand,  "Miss  Montreville  is  in  a  watery  grave, 
and  I  am  sure.  Sir,  some  heavy  judgment  will  light  on  him  that 
drove  her  to  it."  So  my  master  •stood  for  a  moment  thunder-struck 
as  it  were,  and  theu  he  flew  upon  us  both  like  a  tiger,  and  shook 
Hs  till  he  scarce  left  breath  in  us,  and  swore  that  it  was  all  a  trick, 
and  that  he  would  make  us  produce  you  or  he  would  have  our 
lives.  So  I  tried  to  pacify  him  the  best  I  could  ;  but  Mary  answer- 
ed him  up,  that  it  was  all  his  own  doing,  and  that  he  might  seek 
you  in  the  river  where  he  would  find  your  corpse.  This  put  my 
master  quite  beside  himself;  and  he  catched  her  up,  and  flung  her 
from  him,  just  as  if  she  had  been  a  kitten;  and  then  he  flew  down 
to  the  river  side,  and  1  followed  him,  and  shewed  him  where  we 
had  found  your  hat ;  and  explained  to  him  how  it  was  not  our  fault, 
for  we  liad  both  been  very  civil  and  given  you  no  disturbance  at 
all,  which  you  know.  Madam,  was  true.  So,  close  to  the  place 
where  we  found  your  hat  we  saw  tlie  print  of  your  little  shoe  in  the 
bank  ;  and  when  my  master  saw  it  he  grew  quite  distracted,  cry- 
ing out  that  he  had  ntiurdered  you,  and  that  he  would  revenge  you 
upon  a  wretch  not  fit  to  live,  (meaning  himself,  Madam,)  and  so  he 
would  have  leaped  mto  the  river  ;  but  by  this  time  one  of  the  ser- 
vants he  brought  with  him  came  up,  and  we  forced  him  back  to 
the  house.  Then  he  grew  more  quiet;  and  called  for  Mary,  and 
gave  her  his  purse  with  all  his  money,  and  bid  her  tell  every  thing 
about  you,  ?\Iadam  ;  how  you  had  behaved,  and  M'hat  you  had  said. 
So  she  told  him,  crying  all  the  while,  for  she  repented  from  het 


iKftrt  that  ever  she  consented  to  have  any  hand  in'  the  business. 
And  sometimes  he  would  start  away  and  gnash  his  teeth,  and  dash 
his  head  against  the  wall ;  and  sometimes  he  would  bid  her  go  on, 
that  he  might  run  distracted  at  once  and  forget  all.  So  she  told 
him  that  }Ou  had  written  to  one  Mrs.  Douglas,  in  hopes  that  when 
you  were* dead  he  would  take  phy  on  yon,  (repeating  your  very 
words.  Madam  )  Then  he  asked  to  see  the  letter,  and  he  carried 
it  into  your  room.  And  there  we  heard  him  groaning  and  speak- 
ing to  himself,  and  throwing  himself  against  the  walls ;  and  we 
thought  it  best  to  let  him  come  to  himself  a  little  and  not  disturb 
him.  So  by  and  by  he  called  for  pen  and  ink,  and  I  carried  them 
to  him,  thinking  if  he  wanted  to  write  it  was  a  sign  he  was  grow- 
ing more  calm  Then  he  continued  writing  for  some  time,  though 
now  and  then  we  heard  him  restless  as  before.  At  last  he  opened 
the  door,  and  called  me,  "  Robert,"  says  he,  quite  calm  and  com- 
posed like,  "  if  you  deliver  this  packet  as  directed,  you  will  earn 
three  hundred  pounds.  But  be  sure  to  deliver  it  with  your  own 
hand."  I  was  going  to  ask  something  more  about  it,  for  I  did  not 
just  know  what  he  meant  about  the  300/. ;  but  he  pushed  me  out, 
and  shut  himself  into  the  room.  Then  I  bethought  myself  that 
there  was  something  strange  like  in  his  look,  and  that  he  was  pale, 
and  some  how  not  like  himself  So  I  went  to  the  kitchen  to  con- 
sult with  the  rest  what  we  had  best  do.  So  I  had  scarcely  g*ot 
there  when  I  heard  a  pistol  go  off,  and  we  all  ran  and  burst  open 
the  door,  and  there  we  saw  my  master, Madam, laid  out  upon  ."Nliss 
Montreville's  bed,  and  the  pistol  still  in  his  hand^  though  he  was 
«one  dead.  Madam,  for  I  suppose  the  ball  had  gone  right  through 
his  heart.'* 

Laura,  dreadfully  shocked,  and  no  longer  able  to  listen  to  this 
norrible  relation,  hastened  out  of  t^  room,  leaving  Mm.  Douglas 
to  hear  wliat  yet  remained  to  be  told  of  the  history  of  a  man  of 
pleasure  ! ! !  The  s<-rvant  proceeded  to  tell  that  he  and  his  com- 
panioivs  had  conveyed  their  inaster's  body  to  head-quarters,  had 
seen  it  buried  with  nvilitary  honours,  and""  then  Lad  sailed  in  the 
first  ship  for  Britain.  That  remembering  the  charge  to  deliver  the 
packet  with  his  own  hand,  he  had  come  down  to  Scotland  on  pur- 
pose to  execute  bis  trust ;  and  hoped  that-Mrs.  Douglas  would  ful- 
fil his  master's  promise.  He  then  delivered  tlie  packet,  which  Mi-s. 
Douglas  opening  in  his  presence,  found  to  contain  a  bill  for  300/. 
in  favour  of  Robert  Lewson,  not  payable  without  her  signature ; 
the  two  letters  which  Laura  had  written  during  her  exile,  and  the 
following  lines,  rendered  almost  illegible  by  the  convulsive  start- 
ings  of  the  hand  which  traced  tliem. 

"  The  angel  whom  I  have  murdered,  was  an  angel  still.  *  The 
destroyer  came,'  but  found  her  not.  It  was  her  hi«t  wish  that  }ou 
sliould  know  her  innocence.  None  can  attest  it  like  me.  She  was 
purer  than  heaven's  own  light.  She  loved  you.  There  is  another 
•^o,  w!»om  she  protests  that  she  loved  to  the  last— but  it  was  me 
*vncwhom   she  loved  with  passion.     In  the  aiiguish  of  her  sou'. 

R 


194 

bhe  called  It  '  idolatry  ;*  and  the  words  of  agony  are  true.  Butf, 
like  a  base  fool,  cast  away  hep  love  for  the  heartless  toyings  of  a 
wanton  !  And  shall  I,  who  might  hstVe  been  so  blest,  live  now  to 
bear  the  gnawings  of  this  viper — this  hell  never  to  be  escaped  ? 

"  She  has  said  that  she  must  goto  the  grave  laden  with  shame  ; 
that  her  name  is  degraded  through  me.  Once  more,  then,  I  charge 
you,  proclaim  her  innocence.  Let  no  envious  tongue  presume  to 
stain  that  name.  Let  it  be  accounted  holy.  I  will  save  what  she 
loved  better  than  life,  though  I  have  persecuted  her — driven  her 
to  death — forced  her  to  hide  in  the  cold  waters  all  that  was  love- 
liest in  woman.  She  says  that  she  will  meet  you  in  heaven-— and 
it  must  be  true,  for  falsehood  was  a  stranger  to  her  lips.  Theiv 
tell  her  that  he  who  was  her  murderer,  was  her  avenger  too.  It 
is  said  that  self-destruction  is  the  last — worst  crime.  In  others  it 
may  be  so.  In  me  it  is  but  justice  ;  for  every  law  condemns  the 
murderer  to  die.  He  who  destroyed  that  angel  should  die  a  thou> 
sand  deaths.    Justice  shall  be  speedy. 

"VlLLIERS   HaRGRAVE." 

Mrs.  Douglas  had  no  sooner  read  the  contents  df  her  packet^ 
than  she  hastened  to  communicate  them  to  Laura.  The  horror 
inspired  by  Hargrave's  letter,  and  the  dreadful  destiny  of  the  wri- 
ter, did  not  render  her  insensible  to  the  pleasure  of  being  empow- 
ered to  clear,  beyond  a  doubt,  the  fame  of  her  young  friend.  Lau- 
ra was,  however,  for  the  present,  in  no  state  to  share  her  joy.  She 
could  only  weep  ;  and,  trembling,  pray  that  she  might  be  enabled 
to  guard  against  the  first  beginn'mgs  of  that  self-indulgence,  whose 
end  is  destruction ! 

Mrs.  Douglas  at  last  fbund  means  to  rouse  her  by  naming  Die 
Courcy,  and  reminding  hep  of  bis  right  to  immediate  information 
of  this  happy  change  in  her  situation.  Laura,  as  superior  to  co- 
quetry as  to  any  other  species  of  despicable  cruelty,  instantly  sat 
down  to  communicate  the  news  to  her  lover.  To  her  plain  unvar- 
nished tale,  she  added  copies  of  the  letters  which  attested  her  in- 
nocence, with  Lewson's  account  of  the  names  *nd  address  of 
those  persons  who  had  been  employed  to  carry  her  from  Eng- 
land. 

Evening  was  drawing  on  before  Laura  bad  finished  her  task  ; 
and,  desirous  to  recruit  her  spirits  before  she  joined  the  family 
circle,  she  stole  abroad  to  breathe  the  reviving  air  of  her  native 
hills.  She  had  crossed  the  little  lawn,  and  was  opening  the  gate, 
when  seeing  a  carriage  drive  quickly  up,  she  drew  back.  The 
carriage  stopped.  She  heard  an  exclamation  of  joy,  and  the  next 
moment  she  was  pressed  to  the  heart  of  I)e  Courcy. 

Laura  first  recovered  uttei'ance.  **  What  happy  chance,"  she 
cried,  "  has  brought  you  here  just  at  the  moment  when  I  am  per- 
niittedto  rejoice  that  you  are  come?*'  "Ah,  Laura,"  said  De 
Catircy,  "  could  I  know  that  you  were  alive  and  in  Britain,  yet 
make  no  efibrt  to  find  you  ?  I  was  convinced  that  Airs.  Douglas 
must  know  your  retreat.    I  was  sure  that  I  could  plead  so  tJiat  no 


^ 


uow  lIiaTefounil 


human  heart  could  fesist  my  entreaties, 
thee,  I  will  na^r  leave  thee  but  with  life.' 

Tlie  little  shrubbery  walk  which  led  round  the  liiwn  to  the  par- 
sonag-e  was  not  half  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  yet  it  was  an 
hour  before  the  lovers  reached  the  house  ;  and  before  Laura  pre- 
sented De  Courcy  to  her  friend*  she  had  promised  that  in  one  week 
she  would  reward  his  tried  aflection  ;  and  had  settled,  that  after 
they,  had  spent  a  few  days  in  delightful  solitude  at  Glenalbert,  she 
would  accompany  him  to  Norwood. 

Laura  has  now  been  for  some  years  a  wife  ;  and  the  same  qual- 
ities which  made  her  youth  respectable,  endear  her  to  the  happy 
partner  of  her  maturer  life.  She  Still  finds  daily  exercise  for  her 
characteristic  virtue  ;  since  even  Amidst  the  purest  worldly  bliss, 
self-denial  is  necessary.  But  the  tranquil  current  of  domestic 
happiness  affords  no  materials  for  narrative.  The  joys  that  spring; 
from  chastened  affection,  tempered  desires^  useful  employment^ 
and  devout  mevlitation,  must  be  felt — they  cannot  be  described. 


THE  EKR 


iTtjCy. 


1  ■ 

;.13.29        B911S     P  23009 


